His Past, His Present, His Future
by JuliusSneezer
Summary: Germany is shocked when Italy attacks France at a world meeting. Germany promises to stay with Italy in his country while he recuperates. Will he learn why Italy was so hostile to France? Will he unlock secrets to his past there? Sucky summary, good fic. Mostly just vacation fluff, honestly. Very little angst. Rated M for Romano's language
1. Chapter 1: The Fight

Chapter 1: The Fight

To say that Germany was frightened would have been a gross understatement. He grabbed the arm rests of his car seat with a white-knuckle grip, his slicked-back hair fluttering coming undone as the wind rushed through the open roof of the car. His blue eyes were wide open with fear as the car whipped around a corner into another lane. He glanced with blatant disbelief at the driver.

Italy was completely calm as he drove with a content smile, one arm resting on the open window as he drove one-handed, his hair batting madly around his head. Germany could not believe his eyes as he realized that Italy was driving with his usual narrow squint.

Germany had no idea how Japan was reacting, knowing that the last member of the trio had driven with Italy before. Germany was in no state of mind to check the back seat, keeping his eyes glued forward as if his concentration could save them from a crash. To his immense relief, he could see the white house in the distance. The World Meeting was being hosted by America this year. Germany's moment of relief was gone as soon as it came as Italy breezed through an intersection, the nose of the car barreling toward the building.

"Italy!" Germany shouted over the honking of other cars

Just as they were about to drive onto the sidewalk, Italy jerked the wheel to the side.

Germany raised a hand to the handle attached to the ceiling, shutting his eyes.

The car turned to a 90-degree angle, sliding into a perfect parallel park.

Italy let out a content sigh, unbuckling his seatbelt. He leaned forward in his seat, pulled a comb out of his pocket, and combed his auburn hair in the rearview mirror. "What a pretty day for driving!"

Germany sat there for a moment, his chest heaving as his mind caught up with him. "I- _Mein Gott_." He turned, straining against the seat belt as he checked on Japan. "Japan are you okay?"

Japan was sitting in the car with a seemingly serene air. Germany would have thought he were completely fine if not for his ashen complexion, his dilated eyes, and the fierce white grip his hands had on his knees. "Yes." He said simply, his voice unusually shaky.

Germany looked over to Italy, his eyebrows furrowing into a fierce glare. "Were you trying to get us killed?!"

Italy's hand paused in mid-air as he turned to Germany. "What do you mean? We were totally safe! And I got us here early!" He pointed to the car's dashboard.

Germany glanced over to the clock briefly. 8:26. They were supposed to be here by 9:00. "You call that safe?!"

"Of course! We didn't crash, did we?" He asked.

"Just because we didn't crash doesn't mean we were safe! Multiple traffic laws broken, you almost ran over several birds and a cat…" He trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose. Italy would be the death of him, surely. But then again, today he almost was.

Italy smiled. "But we didn't crash! We didn't run over any birds or cats, and don't tell me you haven't ever broken a couple traffic laws yourself, Germany."

"I haven't." Germany's hand left his face as he glared over at Italy.

Italy's smile dropped. "You haven't? You haven't taken a five-minute drive without a seat belt?"

"No."

"Changed lanes without a turn signal?"

"Never. I don't have a death wish."

"Even when no one was there?" Italy asked, quirking a brow.

Germany crossed his arms with stubborn pride. "Of course not."

Italy furrowed his brow. "Hmm." He turned in his seat. "What about you, Japan?"

Japan finally looked up from the floor. "A- a couple of times, I suppose."

"Exactly! Japan does it, Romano does it whenever he drives, everyone breaks a couple of traffic laws sometimes. Am I really so bad if I do it?"

Germany raised an eyebrow at Italy. "I'm not sure I understand your-"

"-Excuse me," Japan interrupted, escaping the car frantically. He stumbled over to a nearby trash can and bent over it, vomiting.

Before Germany's hand even contacted his seat buckle, Italy was already there rubbing soothing circles on Japan's back. "There there, it's okay! I'm sorry, Japan, I forgot you got motion sickness."

As Germany unbuckled his seatbelt, he remembered his unopened water battle sitting in the cupholder. He grabbed it before leaving the car and joining the other two nations. Just as he made it over there, Japan straightened and spit into the garbage can. "It is okay, Italy."

"Doesn't look okay," Germany added as he handed Japan the water bottle.

"Thank you, Germany." He took a long drag from the water bottle, swishing the water around his cheeks before he swallowed it. "It is good to get it out before my presentation, I suppose." He took another sip.

Italy brightened, a hand returning to Japan's shoulder. "That's right! Your presentation! Are you ready?"

"As ready as I can be," he said as he capped the water bottle. He led the two back to the car to grab their stuff. "I've been working on it for months. I practiced all day yesterday."

Germany was not surprised. Japan was one of the most hardworking people he knew, and he had become accustomed to the fact that he wanted to provide a quality presentations for the other nations. "You sound prepared."

Japan nodded, swinging the strap of his laptop bag around his shoulder.

Germany leaned across the driver's seat to grab his notebook and pen. He stood up and was about to pat his pockets for his backup pen as Italy brushed past him.

"You're going to do great!" He bent over to grab his notebooks and box of pastels.

Germany shook his head at his colleague's antics, trying not to focus too hard on how well-tailored Italy's suit was as he straightened back up. Germany's eyes flickered over Italy. He was wearing a steel grey suit, tailored to fit his lithe form, with a black button-up shirt and a tie that matched his suit. His hair was perfect, of course, despite it just being finger-combed.

Italy waved. "Germany, you okay?"

To Germany's despair, his cheeks were turning pink. "I was making sure you looked presentable." He turned to Japan, noticing the slight upturn on the smaller nation's lips. Damn, he noticed.

"Do I look okay, Germany?"

Germany had no doubt in his mind, but he surveyed Japan quickly just to make sure. He was wearing a black suit, also tailored, with a starched white shirt and a black tie. He nodded. "Yes."

Italy snickered. "You may want to check yourself, Germany…"

Germany frowned. "I checked myself in the mirror this morning, What I'm wearing is perfectly fine." He remembered his black suit, his white shirt, his grey tie.

Italy pointed at Germany's hair. "Your gel came undone while we were driving."

Germany's eyes widened slightly. He self-consciously smoothed his hair down with his hand. "Is it okay?"

"It's… not the best." Japan answered. "Perhaps we can fix it inside."

Germany looked up at the white house, decisively smoothing his hair down again. "Right." He walked toward the building, starting up the steps.

Behind him, Italy and Japan exchanged a glance before they followed him up.

Their steps echoed on the floor of the entrance hall as they made their way through. Germany blushed slightly as he noticed all the attention they were gaining. How could they not gain attention? They were the personifications of nations. At the sound of a couple whispers, Germany flattened his hair again.

"There's a restroom." Japan muttered to Germany.

Germany made a beeline toward the restrooms, resisting the urge to fast-walk. That would make the situation worse. The more dignity he held on to, the better.

His mouth fell open as he glanced in the mirror. While the strands had their gel on still, his hair was still lazily drooping to the side in a middle part. There was no way to fix this, was there?

Upon hearing Italy laughing, he turned fiercely. "Stop laughing! There is no way I can go into the meeting like this!"

Italy's laughing reduced to a giggle. "Sorry, Germany, your expression was just so funny. I can fix it!"

Japan's brow furrowed slightly. "How?"

Italy's smile dampened slightly. "Germany's not going to like it,"

"Anything is better than this." Germany protested, refusing to look in the mirror again.

Italy withdrew the comb from his pocket. "You're going to have to wash your hair in the sink."

There were a couple of quiet seconds. The only sound was the dripping of a faucet in a sink.

"No." Was Germany's simple answer.

Italy's smile fell away. "B- why not? You said yourself you can't walk into the meeting like this!"

"What do we do if someone walks in and I'm bent over a sink?" Germany couldn't even comprehend how humiliating that would be.

"Nothing?" Italy offered. "What are they going to do, tell us to stop? We're nations! Anyone who walks in here will just ignore us."

"There's no way I'm doing that." Germany crossed his arms stubbornly.

Japan raised his palms in a peace-making gesture. "Germany, it is really the only thing Italy can do. Nobody will take us seriously otherwise."

Germany paused, considering Japan. He sighed, turning to the mirror. His hair was as messy as ever. Not to mention getting it fixed might ease Japan's mind about how seriously others would take his presentation. "Fine. How long do we have?"

Italy tilted the Rolex on his right wrist up. "Twenty-five minutes."

"My hair should dry in time…" He allowed.

"If we start now," Italy pointed out.

Without a word, Germany unbuttoned his jacket and handed it to Japan. He threw his tie over his shoulder, leaned over, and turned on the water. He took one last resolving breath before dipping his head into the sink and scrubbing furiously.

They walked into the meeting at 8:50, Germany's cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. Germany's hair was in a side-part, his bangs combed toward the left side of his face. He took his seat without saying a word to the others, hoping that no-one would notice. Italy took a seat on his right, and Japan on his left. The both of them gave him reassuring glances that he ignored as he took out his paper and pens. All was going well, he supposed. No one had seemed to-

"Dude!" A shrill voice interrupted his thoughts.

Germany let out a sigh just loud enough for him and his friends to hear. Of all the people who could have noticed…

"_Ciao_, America!" Italy said.

America high-fived him. "'Sup, dudes?! Germany, my man, is that a new hairstyle?"

Germany sighed again, this time loud enough for America to hear. "_Ja_, I only have it because-"

"'Cause it looks pretty great!"

Germany looked up for the first time at America. "What?"

"Yeah!" America planted both palms firmly on the table. "You look less angry this way, y'know. It's something different, but still sensible! Looks good, man!" He offered Germany a handshake. "Welcome, by the way. Hope the D.C. traffic wasn't too bad for you."

"Thank you." He sent a glance over to Italy. "The traffic wasn't the problem."

Italy had the sense to rub the back of his head sheepishly.

America nodded. "Glad to hear it. Japan, dude! How've you been?" He went around Germany to take the unoccupied seat next to Japan. The two unlikely friends launched into a conversation about Japan's presentation.

"I wanted to invite you and Japan over to my house for dinner after the meeting." Italy offered, looking over at Germany. Though Germany knew he was trying to hide it, he could see that Italy's eyes kept flickering up to the new hairstyle.

Germany considered the invitation, turning his notebook to an open page and writing the date at the top as a distraction. "That sounds good, I don't think I have anything going on this evening." Germany smiled a bit at the thought, excited to join Italy for dinner that evening. His smile faded, however, as he realized that a tiny bit of him was hoping that Japan would not be able to make it. That it would just be him and Italy. Together. Eating dinner. Just talking and laughing. He hunched over his paper and determinedly scrawled the words: _Meeting- Ocean Pollution – America._ This was no way to think. Japan was their friend. And Italy… He looked over at the nation as he thumbed through the pages of his note book to a fresh page.

Ever since World War Two… that one Valentine's day… it spurned feelings, thoughts, and confusion in him. And now in 2019… It's been almost 80 years. He has been in denial for a long time, but he was logical. He knew that he felt for Italy. He's known he has for a long time now. But it was never to be. Maybe if they were human. Maybe- maybe if Italy felt the same way about him. He spurned the thought away as America made his way to the other side of the table, sitting at the head, opposite of Germany. He noticed America leaning over to Russia and pointing to Germany.

He leaned over his papers again. Damn America…

The meeting was called to order at 9:02. It was decided that Japan would present his bit right after lunch (which was catered by Red Robin, America added). In the meantime, they would discuss the pollution in the ocean, how big the problem was, and after lunch Japan would give his presentation on potential solutions. During the meeting, Japan was dutifully taking notes on what was happening, as was Germany. As he glanced over at Italy's notes, he noticed that he was drawing with his pastels. Upon further examination, he noticed that he was drawing Switzerland, who was currently speaking. It was a perfect picture. He furrowed his brows. While he was plenty impressed with Italy's drawing skills, he felt that the middle of a meeting was not the place to utilize them. Nonetheless, he let it be. It wasn't worth the effort.

America adjourned for lunch gleefully, excited to share the catering with everyone. Everyone ate their meals gladly. Germany listened as Japan accepted Italy's dinner invitation, guilt-ridden as he felt a twinge of disappointment. Everyone finished their lunch around twenty minutes into the hour and a half long break, separating into different groups to chat.

The trio joined a conversation with France, America, England, Russia, and Canada. They were talking about current affairs going on in their country. "My country is kinda' hell right now, dudes." America said with a smile. "My boss is stirring the pot quite a bit, and I can tell your bosses are getting tired of him." He looked around the group, noticing that everyone was kind of avoiding his eyes. "It's fine, guys, I can join the club there." He said with a bit of a laugh. "What about you, France? You've been kind of quiet,"

France shrugged a slight bit. "Nothing much to report here!" He said in a relieved tone. "All has been rather peaceful."

America snickered. "We know. You haven't really gotten up to much in a long while. Even during the world wars you were kind of sitting back, huh?"

France allowed a smile and shook his head, much to Germany's relief. He was worried that this would aggravate France, but he appeared to take it in good humor. "What can I say? I can only do what my boss says."

Germany was about to agree but decided to stay silent. The world wars were still a bit of a sensitive topic for him, and he didn't like bringing up his past mistakes. Even if it was the bosses of the country that caused them.

"To be fair, since the United Nations were formed there haven't been nearly as many wars as there were back in the old days." England chimed in, raising a single bushy eyebrow.

"Well yeah, dude, but we've still had stuff going on even after that. France has been kind of chilling except for a bunch of strikes, I feel like you've been sitting on your ass since you caused Holy Rome's fall. And that was before I was even born!" America pointed out with a laugh.

There was a tense pause. Germany felt confused as Italy tensed beside him. He looked over as he noticed that Italy's eyes were wide open.

"What?" Italy almost whispered.

America continued to laugh, unaware of what he'd just done. "Yeah, dude! That was pretty badass, but that's no excuse to leave the rest of the work to us." He glanced around, wondering if his jokes landed. But all eyes were on Italy and France.

Germany glanced around the group, gauging everyone's reactions. England was aghast. Japan's expression was almost exactly like it was back in the car. Like he was going to throw up. Russia's usual smile was not on his face, making him even more unsettling than usual. Canada and America just seemed confused, looking at each other questioningly. Germany noticed with a pang that England and France shot urgent looks at each other before considering Germany for a moment. What the hell was going on?

"France… he's kidding, right?" Italy said it with a small smile, but his voice was still almost at a whisper. Almost like if he spoke any louder, the atmosphere would shatter. "You wouldn't…"

France finally looked into his eyes. "Italy…" He sighed, seemingly collecting his thoughts. "I- yes… I did, but-"

Italy launched forward and his hands seized France by the collar, effectively interrupting France's explanation. He pushed France up against the wall, his usually soft brown eyes filled with poison.

"You bastard!"

The others were too taken aback to take any action.

"Little brother, I-"

"I am _not _your little brother!" Italy pulled France away from the wall and slammed him back into it. "Never! Not after what you did!"

The lull of conversation in the background faded into nothingness as the other nations started to notice. Germany barely noted Spain and Prussia materializing behind him, watching what was going on.

France opened his mouth and closed it, apparently making the wise decision not to say anything.

"He was a child!" Italy shouted, louder than ever. His usual light aired voice was replaced by something raw and dark. Something pained and tortured. "And you killed him!" Italy leaned into France, his voice still loud. "I loved him! You knew I loved him! I told you and you killed him!" He once again slammed France into the wall, harder this time. The sickening smack echoed through the room. "He was a child!" He repeated in full volume.

Germany was shocked out of his frozen state, pushing England to the side as he gripped Italy's shoulders and pulled him away from France. Italy struggled against Germany's arms.

"Let me go! Let me-" Italy broke out of Germany's arms. He stepped forward and pulled his fist back, stepping forward and swinging it into France's face. France reeled back from the force.

"Italy!" Germany's eyes wide, he stepped forward and grabbed at Italy again. This time, Italy made no attempt to escape. He curled into Germany's chest and stayed. Though this display would have normally embarrassed Germany, he knew that he had to get Italy out of there. There was no way he could stay there after what happened. He looked back up at France.

France stood there and touched his fingers below his nose, pulling away bloodied fingertips. But he didn't look mad or angry. He didn't look shocked. He looked sorrowful. Germany could have sworn that he looked at him in this way. Not Italy.

Germany looked around. Only a few nations including himself were surprised. He noticed that Spain, Prussia, Austria, and Hungary looked crestfallen. He furrowed his brow. What was wrong with these people? "Let's go, Italy."

Italy said nothing, allowing Germany to push him slightly toward the door. Germany's hands never left Italy's shoulders. As his back turned, he heard Japan.

"I have to go."

"Japan, you still have to do your presentation." America said, his voice unusually muted.

Japan pulled a flash drive out of his pocket. "My laptop bag is in my seat. Everything is already prepared. The slides should explain everything." He handed it to America. "I trust you will deliver this presentation well, but I have to help my friend."

America's fist curled around the flash drive. "Should have expected that. Take good care of him, man."

Japan nodded once and turned to fast walk toward Germany and Italy.

Germany continued his path, stopping as he passed his brother. "Prussia." He began, facing him. "I know you and France are close. Why didn't you help him?"

Prussia's normally cheerful, confident face was one of heartbroken sorrow. His normal raspy voice was soft with tenderness. "Because he deserved it."


	2. Chapter 2: The Question

Chapter 2: The Question

Germany ignored the mutters of the people in the corridor as he steered Italy out of the building and toward the car. "Watch the steps." He said quietly as they descended the stairs to the building.

"Germany!" He heard.

Germany turned his head to see Japan sprinting down the steps, his usually composed self rushing toward the two of them. "I will sit in the back with Italy."

The concern Japan he had for Italy touched Germany's heart, but he found that he could not smile at Japan's thoughtfulness. "Of course."

He steered Italy toward the back seat of the car, opening the door. Italy bent over and sat down without prompting, apparently needing the seat. He stood perfectly still as Germany leaned over and buckled him in. He looked at Italy as he finished, noticing the tears trapped in his long lashes. He could scarcely believe this was the same man slamming France against the wall several minutes ago. He stood, realizing that even leaving Italy in the backseat as he drove them all to his house felt like too much separation. Before he closed the door, he put his hand on Italy's shoulder and squeezed slightly. While this display of affection would have normally delighted Italy, Germany found that the only response that he got was that Italy closed his eyes. He let go, shutting the door.

He sat in the driver's seat and buckled in, finding that Japan sat in the middle seat, his and Italy's legs touching. He started the car and turned on the AC. He pulled into the traffic, hoping that the drive to Italy would be relatively short. Travel for countries have always been odd. No one has ever really been able to understand it, and since it is illegal to do experiments on national personifications, no experimentation has been done. Travel usually depended on the mood of the traveler and the bond the traveler had with the destination, among other things. There were many variables. As Germany encountered the coast of America, a paved road extended over the ocean. The occasional wave lapped over the fresh pavement, but it was completely safe. As he started to drive over the ocean, he peered back into the rearview mirror.

Japan, who was usually so opposed to touch, appeared to have been making an exception as he slung an arm around Italy's slumped shoulders. Germany was slightly relieved to see that Italy had responded to the touch, leaning into Japan's side. Japan's uncharacteristically worried eyes contacted Germany's in the mirror, and they both shared a confused gaze. A mutual question of "What happened back there?" Germany returned his eyes onto the road, pondering that very question. What was that all about? This Holy Rome, guy… he had heard of him. He knew who he was, and he knew that he was a formidable enemy before he fell. Of course, all this occurred before Germany was even unified, so it all happened before he was even alive. His mind's eye watched as Italy slammed France against that wall, his usually friendly eyes glowing with rare malice. He swore he could hear the echo of Italy's voice as he shouted that he loved Holy Rome. He was a child and he died.

He remembered the desperate anger. The desolate sorrow. So much had happened in a span of a minute. So many new questions that were unanswered, and likely would remain that way. His memory flashed back to that same Valentine's day where Germany's feelings for Italy planted themselves. He remembered the desperate question if Italy had ever had a previous love. He remembered Italy's reluctant answer that he did. Another boy.

Of course. Germany's grip tightened on the steering wheel. How could he never have asked? Why didn't he ever ask? That was a think friends talked about. And yet he never brought it up. Maybe it was because he has never been a fan of heart-to-heart talks. _Or maybe, _he thought. _You were jealous. _He pushed away this thought as the scenery around him started to look familiar. In the distance, he could see Italy's house. Glancing down at the clock, Germany noticed he had been driving for about ten minutes. He looked back up as the new pavement of the magic rode blended into the old asphalt of Italy's driveway.

Italy's house had always been beautiful, Grey brick, white window trimming, with black Spanish tile covering the roof. A gorgeous garden splaying out from the front of the house to the end of the driveway, filled with fruit trees and flowers. He parked the car at the front steps and unbuckled his seatbelt. As he stepped out of the car, he was hit with pure sunlight. Its light and heat contrasted to America's overcast weather that under any other circumstances, it would have distracted him. However, his focus was honed on the people in the back seat. As he rounded the front of the car with the intent of opening the back door, it was opened by Italy. Without casting a glance back, he walked up the steps and unlocked the door to his home.

Germany exchanged a concerned glance with Japan as he stepped out of the car. They knew that whenever Italy had guests over, he slipped into what seemed to be the ideal host. Courteous, considerate, always chatting up his guests about pleasant topics. For him to have left them behind in the car was extraordinarily out of character for him.

"Does he want us to leave?" Japan asked.

Germany considered this. Their cars were in Italy's garage, so it was entirely possible. As he was about to answer that he didn't know, Italy opened the door to his house and stepped inside. He left it open. Germany hummed. "I don't think so." He looked over at his friend, a silent agreement passing between them before they joined Italy in his beautiful house.

Germany shed his coat the moment he stepped over the door, shutting the door behind him. He looked around the room, about to step off the welcome mat to search for Italy when he noticed that Japan toed off his shoes. He did the same, following Japan through the entrance hall.

Germany had always liked Italy's house. It was cozier than his own, but less orderly. It was a spacious open floor plan, so it was easy to find him. As they left the entrance hall, the cream walls covered in fine paintings, the space opened into a living space that combined the kitchen, dining room, and living room. Germany's concentrated frown loosened as he saw Italy sitting on the couch.

He was hovering on the edge of the cushion, his shoulders bent as his elbows rested on his knees. His long, graceful fingers were folded together in his lap. That unruly curl on his head had loosened into a loose slump. It almost lay flat. Germany stepped forward, at a loss of what to do. "It-"

Japan held up an open palm, his kind gaze seeming to pierce Germany. He padded forward, his black socks muffling his steps on the hardwood floor. Without a word, he sat next to Italy. After the slightest pause, he splayed his open hand between Italy's shoulder blades and leaned forward slightly. "Italy," he began, his voice barely audible. "Let's get you to bed, okay?"

Italy nodded, staying quiet for a moment before his shoulders sunk even further. A shattered sob pierced through the air, giving way to horrid, tortured crying. He curled into himself, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes.

"Oh, Italy." Japan said, pulling him into a rare hug. "Come with me." They stood up, Italy appearing to almost lean on Japan entirely as Japan steered him around the couch.

Germany stepped forward. "Let me-"

"-I've got it." Japan interrupted, not unkindly. "How about you make us something to eat, and I will get Italy ready for bed."

It was only around two in the afternoon. Germany knew this, but he also knew that didn't matter. He heard Italy try to muffle his sobs and realized that whatever had taken place, it shook Italy to his very core. He needed rest. However, knowing that he could not help Italy directly was a hard pill to swallow, even if he didn't know what he could do if Japan had allowed him to try. So, he did all he could do. He nodded. "Okay."

Japan gave him a nod of thanks as he led Italy out of the living room, and down the hallway to the bedrooms.

Germany stood for a moment as Italy's crying faded. He needed to collect his thoughts. Well, dinner. Something to eat. He could do that. He shed his suit jacket as he padded into the kitchen area. He had faith in his ability to navigate Italy's kitchen, as it was about the only place in the entire house that was always completely organized. As he tried to find an apron, he noticed a piece of paper stuck to the fridge with a magnet in the shape of a slice of pizza. He pulled it out from underneath the magnet. _Baked Eggplant Parmesan. _It looked relatively simple. He set the recipe on the counter, continuing his search for an apron. After a few more minutes passed, he gave up his search in favor of just taking off his tie and unbuttoning the top button. Rolling up his sleeves, he sighed.

He searched the kitchen for ingredients, not surprised at all to find an abundance of cheese in the fridge. If Italy had any weaknesses, it was cheese and pasta. How that man stayed so thin was a wonder to Germany. He did some more meal prep, his mind echoing the same thoughts and questions he had earlier in the car. He searched the depths of his mind for any more clues or memories that could help him piece together what happened earlier today. But he came up empty.

"Germany." A quiet voice said behind him.

Germany jumped, unusually frightened by the sudden interruption. He peered over his shoulder. "Oh. Japan."

"Can I help?" Japan asked. Germany noticed that Japan looked unusually tired.

"No but thank you."

"I was hoping you would say that." Japan admitted with a slight smile, sitting on a barstool on the other side of the counter.

There was a slight pause as Germany preheated the oven. "Is Italy okay?"

Japan ran a hand through his hair and gave a slight sigh. "No, but he is in bed in his pajamas."

Germany didn't really know what to say. "Oh."

"If you had seen him…" Japan continued, resting his arms on the counter. "When we got to his room, he stopped crying and he was numb again. He didn't say a word. He needed me to help him get dressed, everything." Japan's cheeks colored slightly as he said this, but he was otherwise composed. "It is so unlike him."

Germany nodded in agreement as he searched for a spice cabinet. "Yes… not as unlike him as how he was at the meeting, though."

Japan stilled. He looked almost afraid as he waited for Germany to continue. "Yes."

"I have never seen him angry. I've never thought about it before, but I have only seen him frustrated at worst."

Japan nodded. "Yes."

"Why was he like that?" He asked, finally finding what he needed.

There was a pause. Germany was getting real sick of long, empty pauses.

"It's… not my place to tell you, I don't think." Japan finally answered.

Germany set the spices on the counter and leaned against it, folding his hands out in front of him. "I… understand. It's irritating, but I understand." He stood up again, frustratedly brushing back his bangs away from his forehead. The hair kept falling over his eyebrows from the lack of gel and it was starting to bother him. "But there is still something I don't understand. Why wouldn't you let me help Italy?"

Japan raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

"Don't think I didn't notice."

Japan sighed through his nose, his eyes settling on the bottles of spices. "… I don't think I can tell you that, either. But trust me when I say I wish I could, Germany. I know this is hard for you, especially given how you feel about Italy."

"I-"

"Please." Japan interrupted. "It's okay. I have known for a while. Since World War Two, right?"

Germany could feel his cheeks and ears turn red. "This isn't really… I mean…"

Japan raised his eyebrow again.

Germany sighed. "If I am truly honest, I wish I could help him. But I don't know how. And it's hard to know when people won't tell me a damn thing." Germany finished, aggravated at this moment of vulnerability.

Japan raised a fist to his lips and leaned against it, thinking. "That's remarkably honest of you, Germany. I know neither of us like talking about…"

"… feelings," Germany finished, muttering it like it was a curse word.

"Yes, but I feel that we are close. I appreciate you confiding in me about this." Japan said.

Germany chose not to reply, rinsing off his hands in the sink.

"The best way you can help Italy is to be with him." Japan added. "Stay near him. Help him."

"Well how do I do that?" Germany asked, frustration darkening his tone once again. "Every time I try, I don't know what to do!"

Japan gazed up at him, his brown eyes boring into Germany's icy blue ones.

Germany was slightly uncomfortable with this, but he refused to look away. "What is it?" He asked finally.

Japan blinked. "Sometimes I forget how young you really are. Not even a hundred and fifty years old…"

Germany frowned, wondering how that was relevant.

"It doesn't matter." Japan continued, picking up on Germany's thoughts. "When I say, 'stay near him', just help him. Cook. Clean. Help him get dressed and get on with his day. But whatever you do, don't ask him. This is something he must tell you when he is ready."

Germany nodded, silence ensuing as he dipped the slices of eggplant into scrambled egg. It was not uncomfortable, it was the type of silence where all the participants in conversation were in deep thought. The silence was shattered, however, as Germany's phone started buzzing on the counter by the stove. Germany wiped his fingers off on a paper towel before crossing the kitchen. Picking up his phone, he glared at France's name on the screen. Without a second thought, he dismissed the call. Whatever France did to hurt Italy, Germany was not interested in his explanations. Diplomatic as he was, he had no problem letting France know, either. He set his phone back on the counter, just turning to Japan to tell him when Japan's phone rang.

Japan withdrew it out of his back pocket.

"France?" Germany asked.

Japan glanced at the phone and nodded. He slid his finger across the screen, ignoring Germany's pointed glare as he answered the call. "This is Japan," he paused. "It is fine. It's not like you knew he would react like he did. I trust the presentation went well…? Good."

Germany determinedly ignored the tinny sound of France's voice coming from the speaker as he turned back to the eggplant.

"He will be. It was quite a shock, but give it some time and he will be okay."

Germany glared at the phone. France killed someone close to Italy, then had the nerve to ask if he was okay?

Japan's brow furrowed slightly. "Of course he isn't picking up the phone, you know what he just found out… yes, I understand… well it surprised me too, but how do you react to finding that out?" There was another moment of silence and Japan straightened. "Perhaps… I know. But I… okay, I will. Goodbye, France. I hope your nose heals soon." He hung up the phone.

"Well?" Germany asked tersely.

"France wanted to know if Italy was okay. He apologized for interrupting the meeting, he was worried because Italy wasn't picking up the phone… he was surprised at how Italy attacked him. His nose really hurt, he said."

Germany gave a satisfied hum.

"And… he asked for updates on how Italy is doing."

Germany finished laying out the eggplant slices in a baking pan. "Well he won't get them from me."

Japan nodded. "I expected so."

"Will you give them to him?"

"Yes." Seeing Germany's look, he explained himself. "I know this is confusing, but this is much more complicated than you probably think it is. France… he has a side to the story too."

Germany grunted, pushing the baking pan into the oven. "It doesn't excuse what he did."

Japan frowned, looking slightly aggravated. "How can you decide until you know the whole story?"

"He knew Italy cared for him," Germany answered as he put down the oven mitts. "And he killed him."

"Again, there is a full story you don't know."

"He killed a child!" Germany grunted, keeping his voice low for Italy's sake.

"And how many have we killed, Germany?" Japan answered, his voice dreadfully calm, but deceivingly simple. Behind his eyes was a turmoil of emotion. "How many _people _have we killed for the sake of power?"

Germany froze, his heart stopping in his chest as he stared down at the kitchen tile. God, that thought tormented him constantly. How much blood was on his hands? Whether people from his country or from others, it was a guilt that settled itself on his shoulders constantly. "Don't ask that." He said, his reply barely audible.

"I wouldn't say it if it were not true." Japan said, looking like he dreaded the answer as much as Germany. "We both have killed so many people. I do not even want to think about how many children. But we have done the same as France. Are we bad people?"

Germany thought for a moment. "No." Even then he wasn't sure.

"Exactly. We made mistakes. There were some times when we could not help it. How do you know that France is any different?"

Germany couldn't think of anything to say. "This is why I don't talk about feelings."

"I am sorry, Germany." Japan said, truly looking it.

Germany couldn't think of anything to say. Either way, he didn't want to carry on this damn conversation. He was already so, so tired.

"I have to make a call to my boss. I need to ask if I can stay for a while and help take care of Italy."

Germany nodded, picking up his phone and thanking whatever deity was up there for a change of subject. "I should probably do the same." He selected his boss' number and waited.

A brief phone call later, and he got the permission he needed. The only requirement was that he keep up with his paperwork, and that he be there by next Monday. That gave Germany six days. However, Japan did not appear so lucky.

"I can stay overnight. But I have to be home by tomorrow afternoon."

"You would have to leave first thing tomorrow morning." Germany said. "To accommodate for the international road."

Japan nodded. "There is really not much I can do in that time."

"Perhaps. We'll see how Italy is later tonight."

Japan nodded in agreement, though he still looked unsatisfied.

Germany finished cooking, the two of them discussing how America presented Japan's presentation according to France. Apparently he did well, but after the event during lunch no one seemed to be paying attention. "I have never understood America," Germany said. "He seems to never work hard. And yet…"

"He is incredibly powerful." Japan finished. "It is the stuff he cares about that he works so hard on. It seems that as far as he is concerned, whatever he does not care about should be left alone, but present issues and things that interest him always get his full effort."

Germany nodded, finishing the salad. "Yes… sometimes I wonder how the two of you are friends. You're both so different."

Japan shrugged. "I feel the same way sometimes. But you could say the same about the three of us, don't you think?"

"Ja." Germany offered, pulling the parmesan out of the oven and slicing it. "Help yourself to dinner, I will take Italy his." His gaze landed on the wine rack in the corner before deciding that a glass of water would probably be a better option.

Japan paused, considering Germany's proposition. "Good luck. Remember: be there for him, but don't ask him about what happened."

Germany nodded, walking back to Italy's room. It was the only door in the hallway that was shut all the way. In the days where the three of them would frequently sleep in the same house, it was an annoying habit of Italy's that he would never shut the door all the way. Germany turned the knob and opened the door, finding that the lights were turned off. A window was left open, allowing moonlight to spill into the room. He quietly walked in, wondering if Italy was asleep. As he got closer, though, he noticed that Italy's eyes were wide open. "Italy," he said softly.

Italy looked over at him.

Germany was taken aback by his eyes. Whenever they were fully open, they were sparkling with happiness and a lust for life. But now they were empty and lackluster. Like windows clouded with dust. "I made you something to eat."

Italy looked past Germany's waist at the wall behind him. "I'm not hungry."

Germany paused for a moment, wondering what to do. He remembered what Japan said: _Just help him. Cook. Clean. Help him get dressed and get on with his day._ Making him eat counted as helping him get on with his day, right? "Italy, you have to eat something."

Italy didn't move his head as his eyes found Germany's again. He took a long, slow breath and turned on his back to sit up against the headboard. "My head is pounding." He said, sounding as if he only just woke up. Given the tiredness of his expression, though, Germany suspected he hadn't slept a wink since they got home.

"I brought you a glass of water." He offered, handing it to Italy.

Without a word, Italy took a long drag out of the glass.

"I also made that eggplant recipe that was on the fridge."

Italy looked over at the plate in Germany's hands as if he only just realized it was there. "I was supposed to make that. I'm sorry." His voice was flat.

"It's okay." Germany said, offering him the plate.

Italy took it, but he made no attempt to eat anything.

"You have to eat that."

Italy looked back up at Germany before glancing away like the eye contact burned him. He offered no reply.

"I am not leaving until you eat at least half of that."

Italy cut away a sheepish bite and ate it.

"Good." Germany said, not knowing what to do. He remembered how Italy leaned into Japan earlier and stretched his hand out to put on his shoulder.

"Please, don't." Italy said, sounding as if he were on the verge of tears again.

Germany blinked, taken aback. Italy had never refused physical contact before.

"I'm sorry, but I just…" As if searching for something to do, he took another bite of the parmesan.

"No, you're okay." So many more questions were floating around Germany's head. But, remembering what Japan said, he asked nothing. He glanced down at the plate and saw that at least a fourth of the parmesan was gone. "I…"

Italy shifted his weight.

"Do you… do you need me to stay with you tonight? Here in your room?" Be there for Italy. That was what Japan had said. For whatever reason, Italy loved sharing a bed. That would help, right? "I was going to stay over at your house anyway, but-"

"No, it's okay." Italy looked over for a moment and smiled, but the smile was stretched awkwardly over his teeth. It looked unnatural. Forced. "I'm sure a good night's sleep will get me better in no time."

What do you say to that? What do you say to an outright lie? By sheer stroke of luck, a memory came to mind. He remembered when he was still a young country. Perhaps even in his first year of existence. He was physically around eight years old, but people were expecting so much of him. He had a boss that was piling work on top of him like he was an adult man instead of a child. And whenever he went to meetings with other countries, they looked at him as if they expected him to do something incredible for no good reason at all. To an eight-year-old boy, that was a lot of pressure to contend with.

He remembered that one day he was just fed up with it. He remembered holeing himself up in his room and doing paperwork through a film of tears. He remembered Gilbert opening the door and coming in and sitting on his bed. He looked pretty stressed these days. He remembered that Gilbert asked what was wrong and that Germany had snapped at him that he was very focused, so could he please leave him alone. He remembered the words that started a flood of tears and got him to feel like maybe things would be okay after all. Prussia had leaned forward and said: "Look, Ludwig, I know you're upset. I know you're frustrated and scared, and you may want everything to be fine. But never act like it is already. I'm your older brother, and I care about you far too much to let you do that. Okay?" It was a rare moment of emotional honesty between the two. Their bond was forever changed from then on. From then on, it finally felt like Gilbert was Ludwig's brother.

Germany sighed, looking down at the covers of the bed. "Italy, I know you're mad. And confused. And very, very sad." He paused and licked his lips. "You may… want everyone to think you're okay. I know what it is to not want anyone to know how you feel. But don't act like nothing is wrong. I'm your friend, and I… I care far too much for you to shut yourself in." He looked back up at Italy, desperately hoping to get through to him. "Do you understand?"

Italy looked at him, and he didn't turn away. His eyes were swimming with tears. "I- yes. I do." He cleared his throat. "I know you're confused too. I've never really told you about this. But… it's very, very complicated." Italy looked at Germany with a perplexed expression that slightly unnerved him. "I… I promise I'll tell you later. When we're ready."

Germany frowned. When _we're _ready? As in the both of them, not just Italy?

"But… it will take me a little bit." Italy looked away again, pushing his plate in front of his crossed legs and letting his hands curl in his lap. "You have to understand… I found out that someone I think of as family _killed _someone I loved… I have no idea how to feel about that."

Germany nodded. He knew that was probably extremely difficult to work through. However, he still felt confused. That explained nothing about how Italy was acting toward him.

"And I slammed him against the wall. And I punched him. And said horrible, awful things." Italy said, his frown deepening. "And I'm not even sorry. It's just… too much."

There was another moment of silence as the two tried to think of something, anything they could say. "Japan is staying overnight." Germany offered. "He has to leave first thing in the morning, but… if you will have me, I have permission to stay here until Monday."

Italy nodded, still looking down at his lap. "That's very kind. You two are good friends. But I think I need to be alone for a little bit. Thank you for the dinner."

Germany felt a pang, realizing this was a dismissal. He stood. As he leaned forward to grab the plate from in front of Italy, he felt the strongest and strangest urge to kiss the top of his head and tell him that everything would be okay. He chided himself as he turned away. Italy was still upset about his first love's death, and here he was having these thoughts… as he went through the doorway, he stopped and turned around. "Goodnight, Italy. Sleep well."

But Italy was already laying down, and he had pulled his covers underneath his chin. Whether he was asleep or awake, he didn't respond. Germany reluctantly turned away and shut the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3: Prussia

The evening before, Germany had offered Japan the guest bedroom so he could have a good night's rest before the next day's travels. As a result, Germany was camped out on the couch. He set an alarm on his phone for 6:30 the next morning. He would have normally gotten up an hour before for his morning jog, but he had not packed for an overnight stay. Before he had gone to bed, he stripped off his button-down shirt for the wide-strapped white undershirt he had worn underneath it. He had a rough night's sleep, but he got up without complaint and started rummaging around the kitchen.

He filled a glass with water and swished it around his mouth in a vain attempt to get rid of the morning taste in his mouth. The water took care of some of it, but he reached in his pocket and pulled out his pack of spearmint gum to pop a strip in his mouth. He started a pot of coffee and got out some eggs, deciding to make a nice, healthy breakfast for the day. He ignored the crick in his neck as he started chopping vegetables and mixing eggs. He heard quiet footsteps behind him.

"_Guten Morgen_, Japan. You won't be scaring me this morning, I'm afraid. I'm making eggs with sautéed vegetables this morning, unless you would like something different."

"That sounds delicious, actually." Italy's voice said.

Germany turned around, his eyes wide with surprise. Indeed, it was Italy standing behind him. He was wearing a button-down shirt, and he had slung a pair of skinny jeans over his arm as he was buttoning said shirt. His hair was tousled and he had grey shadows under each of his eyes. Regardless, he looked much better in comparison to how he looked the night before.

"Italy." Germany said.

"Germany." Italy returned with a hint of a smile. He pulled on the skinny jeans, apparently in no hurry.

"I didn't expect you to be out of bed so soon."

Italy hummed in agreement, straightening. "Neither did I." His voice sounded slightly gravelly from sleep – or lack of it. Germany was still unsure. "But I have plans today." His voice didn't have the usual bubbly quality it possessed.

Germany's eyebrows were raised up high. He raked his eyes up and down Italy's form, quite taken aback by how good he looked in those skinny jeans. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping that it would somehow stay back. "So soon?"

Italy nodded, brushing past Germany to get to the coffee pot. He reached up to the cupboards to grab a coffee mug, filling it to the brim. "Yes. I'm going to visit France."

"France?" Germany asked, suddenly angry. "Why him?"

Italy took a sip of coffee and sat at the barstool across from him. "He was going to give his side of the story yesterday, but I never gave him a chance. I owe it to him, I think. The sooner I hear it the better."

Germany leaned forward on the counter, resting his weight on his forearms. He looked at Italy, and Italy looked back at him. He failed to understand how Italy could be giving France a chance to be forgiven so quickly. "I don't think I'll ever understand you."

Italy nodded. "You're not the first person to have told me that."

"Do you want me to come with you? Japan has to go home this morning, but I can come along if you want."

Italy took another sip, humming with satisfaction. "No, I can go on my own. But I would like you to stay for a little while longer, if you can."

Germany nodded. It was the answer he was hoping for. "Of course. I already have permission, I'll just need to get some clothes from my house."

"You slept in your clothes last night?" Italy asked.

Germany frowned. "What do you think? I'm wearing my clothes right now."

Italy gave a sheepish smile. "Right. Sorry.

Germany's frown softened as he was filled with regret. Why couldn't he control his damned temper? "It's fine. I snapped."

Germany heard a yawn behind them. "Guten morgen, Japan."

Japan offered no response as he shuffled past Germany, clad in his pants from yesterday and his open button-down shirt over a white tank top. He shuffled over to the coffee pot and poured himself a mug, standing and facing the wall as he took a few sips.

Germany looked over to Italy and they shared a small, if not tentative smile. They were well-accustomed to the fact that Japan had a very difficult time waking up without coffee, often not noticing things until he was through at least half a cup. He continued his shuffle over to the bar stools, stopping as he noticed Italy sitting there.

"Italy. Good morning." He said, as if it were just another normal day.

"Good morning, Japan." Italy returned with a close-mouthed smile.

Japan sat and took another sip. Germany had just finished chopping up the vegetables when Japan looked back over to Italy as he began to remember what happened the day before. "Italy, how are you feeling?" He asked.

Italy smiled once again at his friend. "Much better. Thank you, Japan. Thank you both for helping me yesterday."

"It was our pleasure." Japan answered.

Germany nodded.

"I didn't expect you to be up this early, Italy."

Italy nodded. "I have plans to go over to France's after breakfast."

"Hm." Japan hummed. He took another sip of coffee. "That is probably a good idea."

The three enjoyed breakfast together, discussing Japan's travels and what was likely to be expected of him whenever he got home.

"I imagine my boss will want to know what kept me from going home yesterday."

"Are you going to tell him?" Italy asked nervously.

Japan shook his head. "No. There is no reason to cause tension between everyone. I will just say the truth: I wanted to see my friends."

"Aww, that's sweet, Japan!" Italy cooed.

Germany allowed a small smile at two nations. Despite Italy's semi-normal attitude, there was no denying he was tired. It was obvious that he was still stressed. He was glad he could still stick around with Italy, even if it was just to keep him a little bit of company.

As breakfast finished and Japan downed the dregs of his second cup of coffee, he glanced at the clock on the wall. "I have to get going. He stood up and bowed to Italy. "I want to thank you for your hospitality, Italy."

Used to his formality, Italy gave him a close-mouthed smile and bowed his head. "You should really be thanking Germany for it. I really didn't do much,"

"It was nothing." Germany said.

"Actually, it was quite delicious!" Italy said as Japan left to grab his things. "I'm impressed you figured out the coffee machine!"

"I must admit, Italy, I never took you to be a coffee snob. Grinding your own beans every morning?" Germany said with a hint of a smile.

Italy shrugged. "What can I say? I have an expensive taste." He took another sip of his coffee as Japan returned with his jacket. "You ready to go?"

Japan nodded, shrugging on his jacket. "Unfortunately. My car is still in the garage, I think."

"Should be," Italy confirmed. "You know the way there and how to open the garage door?"

"Yes. Again, thank you two for the bed and food. I'll call soon, Italy." Japan offered, resting a hand on Italy's shoulder as he walked away.

"I'll hold you to that, Japan!" Italy called back before the door shut.

Germany looked over at Italy, his heart feeling lighter as Italy's gleaming amber eyes met his. The two were looking at each other for a moment. Germany's face was expressionless, and yet his heart quite full.

"You okay, Germany?" Italy asked.

Germany looked away, dismayed to feel his cheeks heating up. "Fine. It's just good to see you feeling better."

Italy looked down into his coffee, almost as if he were willing it to refill itself. "I'm feeling a little better. I mean… it's not like I'm getting over his death for the first time. I think that the shock of finding out France did it kind of opened that wound for a moment."

"Will you be okay?" Germany asked, hoping that this was all just temporary. More than anything, he wanted Italy to be fully and completely happy again.

Italy looked back up to Germany. "It's as I said yesterday. It's complicated, but… the complications in this case make it a little easier. I suppose. I'll be okay, though. I promise. Especially after I talk to France."

Germany nodded. "Good. When do you plan on leaving?"

Italy hummed. "After I finish my coffee."

"I can use my key to get back in here after I bring my stuff."

"Great! Do you want me to drop you off on my way to France's?"

Germany blanched. "Why on earth would I-?" He stopped as he noticed Italy's expression of mirth. "Oh, you're joking."

Italy laughed into his cup as he lifted it to his lips. "Yes, I am. I know my driving is a little too fast for you."

"Well, yes." Germany said.

"After all, it's not my fault that you're too boring to enjoy it," Italy added with a grin.

"Boring?" The corners of Germany's mouth lifted at Italy's remark. "I'm _not _boring."

"You iron your socks!" Italy laughed.

Germany smiled at the sound, relieved. "I see no reason why socks should be wrinkled."

Italy put down his mug and shifted forward in his seat. "Okay, maybe, but then you roll them into little… snail shells before you put them away and they get wrinkled all over again! There's no point in ironing them!"

"You mean spirals?" Germany corrected.

"Don't change the subject!"

Germany chuckled.

"Am I wrong? Don't they wrinkle?"

Germany leaned on the table, shaking his head. "Now that I think on it, I suppose they do."

"Exactly! Do you know what you should do?"

Germany smoothed his hair back, wondering what his disorganized friend had to tell him. "What should I do?" He asked with a smile.

"You need to- hold on." He bent down under the edge of the table.

"What are you-?"

Italy sat back up, holding a sock patterned with avocados. "Here, let me show you." He placed it on the table.

"Is that a sock you were wearing?" Germany asked.

"I didn't wear it long," Italy batted his hand.

"Don't put it on the table! It's disgusting." Germany slid his coffee mug away from the pair of socks.

"You fold them like this." Italy said, ignoring Germany's last remark. He folded the end with the toes halfway up the sock before he pulled the end with the foot hole to meet the toes halfway. "Then you fold them up like a book." He concluded, doing so. "Then you can stack them a few pairs high, and there are no wrinkles!"

Germany raised his eyebrows. "I will admit, I didn't expect you to say something that actually made sense."

Italy pulled his socks off the table. "Well, us Italians take fashion very seriously."

"With avocado socks."

"Oh, yes. Can't afford for your avocado socks to get wrinkled."

"_Now _who's boring?" Germany asked with a smile.

Italy laughed, taking a final sip of his coffee. "I really have to get going."

Germany nodded, disappointed that the lighthearted moment had passed. "Okay. Good luck,"

"Thanks." He stood and pulled his ring of keys out of the key bowl on the counter. "Thanks for breakfast, Germany! Don't let the coffee go to waste!"

"What coffee? You drank it all." Germany answered as Italy went out the hallway. He heard Italy's faint laugh trail behind him before he closed the door and left the house quiet.

Germany let out a content sigh, draining the last of his cup of coffee. He looked around the kitchen, noticing he still had to clean.

By the time he finished and got in the car, he didn't feel like going through all the trouble of buttoning up his shirt and tying his tie for a five-minute drive to his place. He enjoyed the Italian sunshine as he drove his car out, rolling down the windows. It was autumn, so by the time he was back in Germany it would be chilly again. As he turned the radio on, he pondered that it would be nice to take a couple days' vacation. He hadn't spent more than a weekend there since the late 70's, and even then he just stayed at Italy's house. Not that it was a bad thing, he just enjoyed the architecture and culture of the country and scarcely had the opportunity to explore it.

Perhaps he could visit Rome again. Maybe Italy would come with him. It would be a good time. They could get some pasta, check out a few botanical gardens… his musings were interrupted as the air turned chilly, prompting him to roll up the windows. He saw his house in the distance. Unlike Italy's house, it had been updated quite a bit with the modern times. He suspected that the reason Italy's house was still rather old-fashioned was because of the older culture and landmarks of the past that still remained.

Germany's house featured a glass front with smooth grey sides and black slate roof that banked to the house's left side. It had a modern looking garden, with perfectly cubed and rectangular hedges. There were no flowers or fruits in his garden. He got out of his car and walked up to his door past the brown shrubs, wondering if he could get a couple flowering bushes. He stopped at the door and unlocked it, musing that Italy must have been rubbing off on him more than he initially suspected.

He opened the door, shutting it behind him. "_Blackie, Berlitz, Aster! I'm home!"_ He shouted in German, delighted as he heard the barks from his three beloved dogs, their toenails scratching on the dark hardwood floor as they bolted toward him. _"Did you miss me?"_ He asked, kneeling and petting them all in turn. They weaved around his legs and torso, almost nudging him over as he vied for his attention. _"I missed you three. It's good to see you."_

"_Wow, Ludwig, greeting the dogs before saying 'hello' to your own brother?" _

Germany looked up as Prussia rounded the corner. Though he had his usual smirk, there was an air of anxiousness. A silent question if all was well.

"_Hello, Gilbert."_ He stood and offered out a hand to shake.

Prussia gripped it and pulled his younger brother into a hug. Germany returned it after a slight pause, not realizing how much he needed it until then.

"_How's Italy doing?"_ Prussia asked.

Germany pulled away. _"Better. Last night he was…" _

"_Heartbroken?"_ Prussia offered.

Germany nodded. There weren't many other ways to describe it. _"Today he's going to see France. Talk things out."_ He made his way back to his room.

"_I know."_ Prussia followed him, his chicken slippers sliding on the wood of the floor. _"He called me earlier and told me. It was a pain in the ass to be woken up by a phone call at 6 in the morning, but whatever."_

Germany grunted, pulling his suitcase out of the closet.

"_Going somewhere?" _

"_I'm staying at Italy's house for a couple weeks. Helping him out." _

Gilbert's eyebrows floated up to his hairline. _"Boss let you?"_

"_For whatever reason, yes."_ Germany answered. _"I have to get my paperwork done there, but I was allowed." _

"_On vacation?" _

Germany shrugged as he pulled out several shirts. He went through them, choosing the ones he knew he looked best in. He wasn't doing it for Italy, of course, he was doing it to make a good impression on the people of his country… obviously. _"We're nations. Vacation is never truly vacation." _

"_Ooh, you're packing your best shirts." _

"_No_," Germany turned away as he felt his ears and cheeks heat up.

"_Yeah, you are!"_ Prussia strode forward and pointed to each of them in turn. _"These three make your biceps stand out, this one makes your skin look tan, and France once told you that this one looked hot on you. At first I was like: 'gross, France, that's my brother', but I mean a compliment is a compliment. Especially from France." _

Germany's neck was growing hot at this point. Prussia had hit a bulls-eye on every guess. _"Yes, well… I'm trying to make a good impression on the Italians. For whatever reason, whenever I go there they seem scared of me." _This was perfectly true, in his defense. Not exactly a lie.

Prussia sat on his bed, studying him for a moment with a mischievous smile. _"Mm-hmm… don't worry about the paperwork. I'll call the boss, tell him that the better brother is taking care of it." _

Germany looked up from the shirts at Prussia. _"What?" _

Prussia shrugged. _"How could I call myself an awesome brother if I didn't take your work from you? After all, you can't pursue Italy's sweet ass while trying to do all that boring shit."_

Germany's blush returned full force. _"What do you mean?!"_ He asked, his voice far too loud from embarrassment.

"_West, I need you to listen to me." _Prussia put his hands on Germany's shoulders. _"The only person who can't see you have a giant crush on Italy is Italy himself. Everyone else knows."_

"_What…?"_ Germany's voice was remarkably quiet.

Prussia stepped away toward the dresser. _"Yes, everyone knows! America and France have started a betting pool. And I owe Spain 50 euros if you don't get laid in the next three months, so you better hop to it and get your awesome brother some cash!"_ He pulled out a pair of jeans that Germany seldom wore. _"And make sure to wear these, they make your ass look good."_


	4. Chapter 4: The Answer

Germany drove back to Italy, excitement filling him from head to toe. He had chased Prussia out of his room, Prussia cackling as he left. Germany was grateful for his brother. But dropping that bomb on him was a bit much before he was to be hanging out with Italy for the next several days. Just the two of them. Alone. Germany let the windows down, enjoying the warm breeze. He gelled his hair down before he came, glad to finally have it out of his face. He made sure to pack it and checked his bags several times before he finally left an hour after he arrived at his house.

He parked at Italy's house, opening the door and pulling out his luggage. He took the opportunity to shut his eyes and face the sunlight for a moment, taking a deep breath of warm, fragrant air. He opened his eyes with a close-mouthed smile before he took a slow walk up the door and admired Italy's garden. It truly was lovely. The sun baking the fruit in the garden let loose a myriad of fragrance that enchanted the senses. He unlocked the door and stepped in, wondering if Italy was home. He knew it was too much to hope for. He was likely in the middle of a very difficult conversation. Ludwig toed off his shoes and remembered why he was here. It was not just a vacation, it was to make sure Italy was okay.

He wheeled the luggage back to his room, wondering how he could make Italy's return welcome. He remembered that Italy enjoyed that apple cake that Germany made sometimes, and resolved to make one for him to enjoy when he came home. He pulled his apron out of his suitcase and tied it as he paced back to the kitchen. He rummaged around the kitchen for the ingredients, measuring them out in advance. A couple of countries close to him would admit that he has mellowed out in recent years (no recent wars will do that to a nation), but he was still as orderly as he was during the wars, and he still ran a tight ship. It was just fact that measuring out your ingredients before you started made for an easier and more pleasurable baking experience.

An hour and a half later, Germany was cleaning the kitchen. The air smelled of warm, delicious apple cake. It sat on a cooling rack by the stove, and the batter pans were soaking in warm, soapy water. All there was left to do was wipe down the counters, then apply a thick dusting of powdered sugar to the top of the cake. He finished with the powdered sugar and was just admiring his handiwork as he heard the doorbell ring. His mind immediately flashed to Italy, but then decided that he could just open the door himself. He concluded that it was the mail and considered making a pot of coffee to enjoy when Italy came back. He heard the doorbell ring again and frowned. Perhaps it was a fellow country coming to check on Italy? Or maybe Prussia was bringing something Germany forgot about. Germany was halfway to the door when the doorbell rang four times, as if someone were pressing into quickly and furiously.

Germany opened the door and saw Romano standing on the step, his concerned expression souring into one of disdain. "Oh. Potato Bastard. Where's my idiot brother?"

Germany stepped to the side, allowing Romano in. "Visiting France."

"Ugh." Romano untied his shoes, leaving them on the welcome mat as he looked up at Germany. "That blue-eyed, bad-breathed, bimbo bitch from hell."

Germany raised his eyebrows at the creative insult. "I suppose…"

"Something smells good." Romano migrated to the kitchen, his feet slapping against the floor.

"I made apple cake." Germany explained, joining him in the kitchen as he untied his apron.

Romano hummed skeptically. "_You _made _that_?"

"Yes…"

"There's no way. Looks too good."

Germany hummed back, wondering if that was Romano's version of a compliment.

"Well? Are you going to get me a slice?"

"If you want one,"

Romano scoffed. "I wouldn't be asking for one if I didn't want one. _Mio Dio_. I knew you were blonde, but I didn't expect it to actually affect your brain."

Germany hummed again, not really knowing what to say.

Romano strode over to the coffee pot, grunting at the coffee beans. "God, who grinds their own coffee?"

Germany found a cake slicer. "Your brother and I were talking about that earlier. I don't understand why he enjoys his coffee that way."

"Me neither." Romano got out the bean grinder. "Bean water is bean water either way."

Germany let out a small smile at that as he plated a slice of the cake and put it on the counter with a fork.

He cut one for himself, figuring that it would be strange if he didn't eat a slice with Romano.

"How is my brother, anyhow?" Romano asked, his voice slightly less aggressive. The bean grinder whirred, and Romano poured the grounds into a coffee filter. "Spain told me what happened yesterday. Did he really beat up the wino?"

Germany nodded, pulling down two coffee mugs. "He's okay. Last night he acted… withdrawn. But he seemed a little more cheerful today. He was excited that I was spending a bit of time here."

"How long?" Romano asked, pouring two mugs of coffee.

"Six days."

Romano nodded, taking a seat at the table.

Germany joined him, worrying about an awkward conversation.

Romano took a bite out of the cake, chewing it thoughtfully. "Hmm."

Germany waited for his thoughts, not sure why he was so intrigued by Italy's brother. Though they had their disagreements before, he wondered if they perhaps had more in common than he initially thought.

"What do you know?" Romano swallowed. "The Kraut can make something other than wurst." He sounded almost resentful. Like he was looking for something to be mad about.

"Thank you."

"I never said it was a compliment."

"Of course not." Germany replied, taking a bite of the cake. Good as always.

There was a long silence as the two ate their cake.

"So what, you're not going to ask me what it was all about?" Romano asked skeptically.

Germany shook his head, taking a sip out of his coffee. "No. Italy told me he would tell me when we were both ready, whatever that means."

Romano appraised him with what looked like an approving eye. "Hmm. What did you do with him last night? To help him?"

"Japan took care of him mostly. For whatever reason, he didn't want me interacting with Italy that much. But I made him something to eat and drink and made him eat a little until he told me to leave him alone."

There was a moment of silence.

"Listen, shit-stain." Romano pushed away his plate. "I came into this house with the intention to hate you more than I already did. And, surprisingly, I only dislike you."

"… thank you?"

"Don't mention it. Really, don't. Here's all I have to say: You're shit at being subtle about how you feel about my brother."

Germany felt his face heat up. He absently considered the absurd amount of blushing he had been doing these past couple days.

"And I guess I don't hate it. You can cook, and you want to take good care of him. I can tell. You help him be more orderly, and he helps dislodge that giant stick up your ass. But the next few days are going to be harder than you think. It won't all be sunshine and all-night fucks if that's what your perverted mind has been thinking."

"I haven't-!"

"Let me finish." Romano interrupted. "It's going to be hard. But if you're willing to take care of him, you need to know a couple things… well? Aren't you going to get something to write it down?"

"I can remember it,"

"You literally asked me if I wanted cake after I asked for it. I don't trust your brain as far as I could throw it. Which would be pretty damned far, considering how small it is."

Sighing through his nose, Germany stood up and wandered back to Italy's office area. He opened the door and swiped a pad of paper from a cluttered desk. As he walked back, he flipped through various pages of drawings until he found a blank page. He grabbed a pen from the jar of writing utensils that sat on the counter and sat back down at the table. He noticed that while he was gone, Romano had swiped the rest of his slice of cake. He chose not to comment. "Ready."

"Okay. His favorite gelato place is Amalo Gelato E Passione. Be prepared to spend at least twenty minutes there, because he can't choose just one flavor for shit."

Germany wrote this down, surprised at how specific these instructions were. Despite what outward behavior might have suggested, it appeared that Romano really truly cared for Italy.

"If you're going to the beach, do it on Tuesday. Damned tourists will always be in the way, but it'll be least crowded then. His favorite is Bagni 77. It's open for a few more weeks, so you have plenty of time. Expect to stay there for several hours. It's relaxing during the day, but at night it's a party beach. Veneziano loves to party, so expect to stay whether you like it or not. God knows that's what I did. He holds his alcohol almost as well as you do, though, so look out for him."

Germany nodded and made a note about watching him.

"You have to visit Rome. No question. Expect him to bring his damn sketchbook and bring a book or something. He'll want to draw everything… Let's see… that's about all I can think of. The rest of the time he'll be willing to just meander and sightsee, probably. Maybe do a bit of shopping. You really want to make my brother's day? Buy him a flower. And make sure it's a lily. That's our national flower, and he likes it when you remember stupid shit like that. Got it all?"

"_Ja_. I think so."

"Let me see your notes," he slid the notebook toward himself, appraising them. "Hmm… okay." He took one last long drag out of his coffee. "I should probably be going. Spain wanted me home by lunch." He stood up, and Germany stood up with him. "You walking me to the door, starch head?"

"If- yes. I am."

Romano hummed. "So you were paying attention." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and led Germany toward the hallway. He stopped at the door and tied his shoes back on, standing to his full height. Germany noticed that Romano was about five centimeters shorter than Italy. He stuck out a hand. "You impressed me today, Potato bastard. Take good care of _mio fratello."_

Germany nodded. "I will. Thank you for stopping by, South Italy."

Romano raised his hand as a goodbye before he slammed the door behind him.

Germany walked back to the table, clearing the dishes away. He considered what had just transpired. Unexpectedly, Germany had come to like Romano. Maybe it was the grudging respect they had for each other, maybe it was that he figured out just how much Romano cared for his brother. Either way, it went better than he had expected. This day was shaping up well indeed. He considered what he would do when Italy returned home.

Perhaps they would relax at home, then he would introduce the idea of going to Rome tomorrow. Then perhaps they could take a day at the house, then they could go for a day of shopping and sightseeing. They would meander one day, then take a break at the house the next. He was happy to have it all figured out. As he loaded the dish washer and scrubbed the pans, he considered what he could do next. He figured he would officially start his vacation when Italy returned home. Until then, perhaps he could straighten things up around here… there wasn't much to do, though. The only fault was that perhaps Italy's house was overcrowded with décor. Everything was kept clean and orderly. Germany knew that Italy had great pride in his art and house, and he spent a good deal of time making sure everything was clean. It was not organized, but it was clean. So, he settled for organizing all of Italy's DVD's alphabetically. This was more from a lack of something to do than anything else.

He heard the door open and heard shoes on the floor. "Germany?" Italy's voice called.

Germany got up off the floor. "Hello, Italy." He stood and looked over to the older nation. He looked tired but satisfied. "How did it go?"

"It went well… I understood what he said. He really had no choice. I forgave him, and he forgave me for breaking his nose."

"You broke his nose?" Germany asked, surprised.

Italy nodded, his brow furrowed. "I feel really bad for it now."

"Well what matters is that all is forgiven." Germany said dismissfully, hoping to distract Italy from his worries. "I made some apple cake."

Italy brightened immediately. "Really?"

Germany nodded. "Want a slice?"

"Of course! I love it!" He followed Germany in the kitchen. Germany was relieved to see that Italy was feeling better. "Why is some missing?" he asked.

"South Italy stopped by earlier and took a slice… and half of mine." Germany answered.

"Really?" Italy sounded surprised. "Why was he here?"

"He wanted to check on you, but you weren't here."

Italy hummed, taking the slice of cake Germany gave him. "I wouldn't have expected him to stay when he found out I wasn't here… how did that go?'

"Awkward at first, but he didn't hit me."

Italy giggled around a bite of cake. "That's good,"

"He said he didn't hate me, he just didn't like me."

Italy hummed, swallowing his cake. "High praise."

Germany smiled, pouring Italy a cup of coffee. "I suppose so."

The two were silent for a moment, Italy enjoying his dessert.

Germany noticed that Italy's shoulders were tense. His eyes were firmly planted on his cake. Different from his usual habit of locking them with Germany's as they made light and easy conversation. Italy almost seemed… nervous. "Is something wrong?"

"Hmm?" Italy looked up, still looking fearful. "Um… do you remember how I said I would tell you what was wrong when you were ready?"

Germany's heart raced. "Yes."

"Do you think you're ready?"

Germany paused. "Well how can I know if I don't know what you're going to say?" He sounded slightly aggravated. Could people stop being so cryptic and just explain what was going on?

Italy went silent. Germany was just about to apologize when Italy spoke again.

"Let's take a seat on the couch."

Italy led the way, his back ramrod straight. Germany followed, wishing he could soothe Italy in some way. But his curiosity outweighed his ability to dismiss what he was going to be told. He sat, on the opposite end of the couch from Italy.

Italy took a bite of cake. "Germany, how much have I told you about my childhood?"

Germany looked down at the couch cushion as he thought. He barely knew anything, and what he knew was just from passing mentions. The two had never really sat down and talked about it. "I know you grew up with Austria and Hungary for a while. You and Romano were separated and he lived with Spain. Nothing else comes to mind."

Italy nodded. "That's all right, I'll tell you. When I was very, very young, I lived with my brother, and France, and this little boy named Holy Rome. He kept wanting me to join his empire, but I always said no."

Germany was surprised. They were getting into Holy Rome territory already? He thought he would be later in the story.

"One day, my grandfather Grandpa Rome wanted me to live with him. I did, and I loved him, but I missed my friends so much. I watched Grandpa Rome conquer and defeat and grow more powerful. He was truly an amazing man." His voice was muted with sadness. "You were looking for him, you know. When you found me."

"I remember." Better than that, Germany met Rome's ghost once… or he thought so. It could have been an extremely vivid dream.

"But anyway, as he grew and conquered, he became so powerful that he would come home with these huge scars and scrapes. And I would heal them." Italy looked down at his hands. "I wasn't even six physically, Germany. I remember how small my hands looked on those bloodied scars. I remember how he would put on a brave face and hide his grunts of pain while I tried to figure out how to apply bandages. It took me a while, but with how many injuries he got I can still do first aid really well."

Germany tried to imagine a tiny Italy healing giant bloodied scars. It was a sickening thought. He pushed it away quickly as it came.

"Eventually, as you know, Rome fell. He just… died. I was left to find somewhere else to live. I went back to my family and tried to live with them, but… they all were so mean… even Romano. They all fought to get pieces of my land for themselves. And Holy Rome? He was one of the worst. Eventually I lived under Austria as a servant. I was still a young child, Germany. I couldn't paint, I couldn't play like a normal child… all I did was clean."

Germany was frowning at this point. He hadn't realized how rough Italy's childhood was.

Italy had a small smile. "I make it sound like it was so bad… Miss Hungary was my best friend at the time. She took care of me. She would dress me in her old dresses, but I didn't really mind. Even now we're close. She's still family. But as the days passed, Austria still kept me as his servant…" He appeared to have noticed Germany's angry expression. "I'm not upset at him, Germany, he apologized so many times that I couldn't help but forgive him! He really feels bad for what happened, and now we get along pretty well."

Germany grunted, not entirely satisfied. But he stayed quiet to hear more of the story.

"But days went on, and I continued to clean. I ate the terrible food I was given. I was so bored… one day I found an old brush and a can of ink. I painted a big old bushy moustache on a portrait of Austria." Italy cracked a reminiscent smile at this. "Austria locked me up for a day with no meals. Or that's what he said he would do. But someone slid a plate of food through the door. I would look up and there would be these piercing blue eyes looking at me through a mail slot. I knew they were Holy Rome's, but I was still terrified. As time went on, I recognized Holy Rome's acts of kindness more. We spent more time together. At one point, I tried to teach him how to paint a rabbit. He said it was awful, but it was kind of cute in an ugly way. Eventually, there was political unrest and France's boss at the time, Napoleon, was planning on conquering the world. Just like Grandpa Rome did. Just like Holy Rome wanted.

"One day he came and asked me to join his empire. He wanted to unify. He said we could become the most powerful empire in the world. I said no, of course. After I watched Grandpa Rome in all that pain just for him to die… there was no way I could. But he went to the war anyway. But just before he left, I gave him all I had – a little push broom – to remember me by. He said he felt bad that he had nothing to get me and asked what people did where I'm from to show affection. I answered that they kissed. And so we did." Italy took a shaky breath and looked away, down at his hands in his lap. "And he left. He promised he would come back to me. I… I promised to make him some desserts and snacks for him to enjoy when he came back." He smiled regretfully. "The foolish musings of a kid, I guess.

"We traded letters. We only got a few to each other before I stopped receiving responses… I think a part of me knew. Just the tiniest part. But I ignored it. I hoped more than anything in the world that he would come back. But… he never did. It was about thirty years later. I was older then, biologically… maybe sixteen or seventeen… and France came and told me that Holy Rome had died. He told me to forget about him… of course, he never mentioned that it was he who had killed him. He had always treated me so kindly after that. Like an older brother." He looked back up at Germany.

Germany had no idea what he was supposed to say. He knew this happened ages ago. He heard Italy say that he had gotten over it. But hearing the details made it so much more real. So much more present. No wonder Italy was still emotional about it. "Italy…"

Italy shrugged. "France explained to me what happened, though. Holy Rome was already so weak… that was Holy Rome, though. Holding out to the very end. He was going to die soon anyway. Napoleon told him that Holy Rome had to go either way. Either France could kill him now and spare the lives of many of his people, or he could let it drag on and lose even more. So, he did what any good nation would do on behalf of his people. He killed him." He said this matter-of-factly. If it weren't for the tears in Italy's eyes, Germany would have thought he were talking about something as inconsequential as the weather. Italy took a shaky breath. "Nobody ever told me because they were worried I was too weak to handle it. Or they worried it would break me. I suppose they were right, weren't they?" He to

"Italy… that's not true. You clearly are not too weak, and you clearly are not broken."

"I'm not done with my story yet, though. Can you believe it? There's already so, so much more." Italy said, looking at him. "Germany… what comes next will be scary. It will be confusing, and long, and… I'm not exaggerating when I say that it will change _everything_. Are you ready for that?"

What the hell was that supposed to mean? How could anyone be ready for that? Against his better judgement, Germany nodded.

Italy sighed. "Around 60 years later, there were rumors about a new country. I was vaguely aware of it, but I didn't really pay attention. I was still trying to get over what had happened with Holy Rome, and I was developing my own culture at the time. Not to mention I was involved in a minor war. It wasn't until 1914 that I met this new country. I was hiding in a tomato box…"

Germany smiled a bit at that. He remembered that day. It had seemed like such a cumbersome curse at the time, finding Italy. But he looked back on that day, when his only friends were his brother and a literal stick. Where all he had known was pain and heartbreak and pressure. And he compared it to now where he had two great friends, a relaxed but loving relationship with his brother, and a life where he had a hilarious argument about avocado socks over coffee. Where he baked apple cakes and made plans to tour Rome. Meeting Italy was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

"At first you terrified me." Italy admitted as if it were a big secret.

"I know." Germany scoffed. "You begged for your life by telling me you had relatives from my country."

"I have Germanic blood, you know." Italy replied with a watery smile. "Could've been right."

Grateful for a bit of a lighthearted break, Germany smiled with Italy at his sentiment.

"You scared me at first. But as we spent more time together and became friends, I began to wonder. I felt like I had seen those icy blue eyes somewhere. That blonde hair that was always combed so neatly. Holy Rome had always led with his heart and passion more than with his head, but he had the same temper and led the same tight ship that you do. It was almost as if you were what Holy Rome would be if he had the opportunity to grow up and mature. And I wondered… were you somehow Holy Rome?"

There was a long pause.

"You realize that is impossible, right?" Germany asked, frowning. But something about what Italy had said unsettled something deep within him.

"I thought that too, Germany. But then I began to ask around…"

Germany felt an icy spike of fear. Could it be why people looked at him with such high expectations from his very unification? No way. It was impossible. "Who did you ask?"

Italy hesitated, as if what he was about to say would have been the point of no return. "It… I asked Prussia."

Germany's eyes widened. "What?" His voice was quiet. Brittle.

"He said… he said that much of what Germany is now was part of Holy Rome's territory… all of Germany was in his territory. After Holy Rome fell apart, his body should have dissolved. But it went for _years _and didn't change even one bit. 64 years exactly. Until 1871, when Prussia organized the German colonies to form the German Empire. The sword wound healed, Germany. And you… you were the result."

"No." Germany said, his thoughts spiraling. "It's impossible."

"It's true, Germany." Italy looked at Germany directly, trying to get in touch with him.

"He- Prussia would have told me." Germany protested, looking for any reason why he couldn't have been Holy Rome.

"He planned to, Germany."

"But why would he wait so long?" He asked.

"Germany, you're only 148 years old. At your age, I was still biologically a baby. Time is strange for nations. For how long Prussia has been alive, 148 years is almost like a week."

"Who… who else knows?" Germany asked.

"Only the European nations, as far as I know." Italy answered, looking away. "Everyone was so preoccupied at the time with whatever they had going on. New nations are born and dying all the time."

Germany sat back in his chair. He smoothed his hand over his hair as he just tried to make sense of what he just heard. He scanned his mind for any clues, any hints of what happened. "I… I have a memory."

Italy faced him, his expression a blank canvas. "What?"

"That one valentine's day. During World War Two."

"I remember."

"The evening afterword, I had a dream… I- I saw a little girl. And my own arm, in a black sleeve tucked a flower behind her ear. That… was that you?"

Italy's eyes were swimming with tears. He nodded, appearing to have run out of words.

Germany scrubbed his hands down his face. "I… I need to call my brother. This conversation isn't over. I need to know everything, but first I need to call Prussia."

Italy nodded again. "Okay. I'll… I'll try to remember."

Germany frantically sat up and fast walked back to the guest bedroom, his thoughts reeling far too quickly for his mind to make sense of them.


	5. Chapter 5: Forgiveness

Chapter 5: The Spat

Germany waited in the guest room in tense silence. His thoughts were moving far too quick for him to examine any of them as the phone rang once, twice, three times. Just as the fourth ring was about to finish, the phone was picked up.

"_West! Tell me, why have you called your awesome brother?"_ Prusia greeted in German.

"_When did you plan on telling me I was Holy Rome?"_ Germany was surprised by the steely sound of his own voice. The harshness.

There was a staticky silence.

"_Who told you?"_ All senses of bravado were gone, replaced only with some emotion Germany was unable to place.

"_Italy." _

"_Of course he did. I thought I told him to keep it quiet." __Prussia spat._

"_You what?" __Germany's voice was barely audible, dripping with malice. _

"_Ludwig, you have understand. You were a child. How was I supposed to tell you then, huh? With all those wars going on… the last thing you needed was to hear that." _

"_And now? Now that I'm all grown? When did you plan on telling me?" _

"_You're only 148 years old, Ludwig, it's a miracle you aren't learning to walk right now." _

_Germany splayed his hand on the surface of his bedside table. __"I'm not a child!" __He was surprised at his volume._

"_Give me a break! It's not like I've done this before!" __Prussia said. __"They don't exactly make manuals for this kind of thing! What should I have done?!" _

"_You should have told me before I had to watch my best friend beat up France over my own death! My entire life changed in a span of a day! Do you even regret it?" __Germany shouted. _

"_You think I don't regret it now?!" __Prussia bellowed._

_Germany pulled the phone away from his ear. _

"_Not now that it's my fault you're so confused?" __Prussia's voice sounded unusually fragile. He sighed. __"Ludwig, you are… the best thing that ever happened to me. At the time you came, I was alone, and… a little brother… you, my little brother. I had to raise you by myself. I'm the least qualified person to do that. But to see that you've grown up to be so good, so strong… better than me in every way not just as a country, but as a person? Ludwig, you are my greatest pride. I didn't tell you because… I didn't want you to lose that. Maybe once you had a stronger sense of self, maybe when you were stronger as a country. But I was scared. Totally un-awesome, huh?"__ Prussia declared in halfhearted humor. _

"_Gilbert…"_ Germany sighed. He was taken aback by the surprising amount of honesty Gilbert was communicating. The two of them were never the kind of people who engaged in heart-to-heart conversations. _"God, I'm so tired. I'm just… confused. We can talk when I get back home." _

"_Okay, West. I'll be waiting. We'll both clear our heads." _

"_Okay. I'll see you at home." _

"_Bye. Oh, and West?" _

"Hmm?"

"_I'm proud of you. I don't feel like I say that enough, but I am." _

A weak smile spread across Germany's face. _"That's unusually sappy."_

Prussia gave a short chuckle. _"Yeah, well I have to actually act like a big brother sometimes."_

"_I'm proud of you too, Gilbert." _

"_Yeah, yeah. Take care of yourself, West." _

"_See you at home, Gilbert."_ He hung up the phone. He scrubbed a hand down his face. Touching as that moment was, he was still so confused. And outside the door of the guest room were all the answers he wanted. He paused for a moment before deciding that now was the time for comfy clothes. If there ever was time for them at… here he checked his watch… five p.m. in the evening, it was now. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the door open and he went into the hallway. Before he even entered the room, he heard Italy.

"How was it?"

"Why are you so nosy?" Germany asked, fully aware that he was attempting to deflect. He left the hall and got to the living room, rounding the couch and sitting down. Despite what he said, he freely gave an answer. "We'll talk about it when I go home."

"Oh." Italy nodded. "Will you be going home soon?"

Germany took a deep breath and sighed. "No. I'll probably stay, if it's okay with you. Home is the last place I want to be right now."

Italy nodded again. There was a long pause in which both of their minds were reeling. "I know you probably have questions." Italy finally admitted. "If you want, I can answer them the best that I can."

"Okay." There was another silence as Germany collected his thoughts. "Is this why you didn't let me touch you yesterday? Because of what happened?"

"I… was conflicted." Italy answered hesitantly. "On one hand I knew who you used to be. But you didn't. For whatever reason, that scared me all over again. I usually don't have a problem with that, of course, but figuring out that France did it… like I said, it opened an old wound for me and got those feelings back in my brain all over again."

Germany nodded. "Does Japan know? About who I used to be?"

Italy shook his head. "I don't think so. He was so far away from the action at the time… he was never really involved with the 30 years' war anyhow. And he's always been so closed off."

Again, Germany nodded. Despite Italy's assurances, Germany couldn't help but remember Japan's face when Germany had asked him about what had happened. His assurances that it wasn't his place to tell him what happened.

"Are you going to tell him?" Italy asked.

Germany tapped his fingers on his knee. "Probably not. Maybe. I'm not sure. He wouldn't know what to think. It may be best that I just keep it to myself."

"You're taking this remarkably calmly." Italy said.

"Well I had a feeling I wasn't like the other nations," Germany said, leaning back in the couch. Though his exterior appeared unbothered, he was unsure. He was on uneven ground and it startled him to an alarming degree. "I was born in warfare and yet people looked at me in a certain way. Even when I was young. Like they expected something from me. I have seen the births of many countries, and none of the other nations have ever looked at them like that. I always felt like there was something they knew about me that I didn't."

Italy reached onto the coffee table, which Germany now noticed had two canvases. They were stacked so the images were facing each other, effectively blocking them from his view.

"What's that?" He asked.

"Paintings from when I was little." Italy answered, pulling them into his lap. He handled them with unusual gentleness.

Germany nodded. "You want me to see them?"

"If I were in your shoes," Italy began, his eyes not leaving the canvas. "I would want to know everything. I would be scared, and confused… I don't want you to feel like that. So I'm going to tell you everything and help you get your memories back." Here he handed him the first canvas.

Germany took it, unsure of how to hold it. An irrational part of him was worried that he would ruin the paint, so he just held it by the wooden framework on the back. He looked down at the painting. On the canvas was the image of what looked like a little girl, maybe seven or eight, curled up on a chair with a velvet seat cushion and taking a nap. A little handkerchief was tied over her head, protecting her short auburn locks. She wore a dress with a matching apron. "This is you." His heart swelled with affection as he looked at it. He briefly wondered if this feeling was from the present, or from some unremembered past.

Italy nodded. "I did it for him once during the Christmas holiday and I gave it to him. He said he would treasure it forever."

Germany nodded, his eyes raking over the painting. He looked back up at Italy. He hadn't appeared to have changed all that much. He had grown taller, of course, and he had some lean muscle from the workouts Germany forced him into. But age had chiseled his features, giving him cheekbones and a narrow but strong jaw. His hair still lay the same, with that silly curl that was poking out of the handkerchief standing at attention. Germany's only wish was that he could see the eyes in this painting. So he could compare them. Part of him wondered what he would see.

"This doesn't bring back any memories." Germany admitted.

"I thought so." And yet Italy looked disappointed. He outstretched his hand in a silent request for the painting, and he swapped it out for the other canvas. "This is Holy Rome."

Germany looked at the painting. It was of a boy in a dark black cloak and a black hat, standing at attention like a soldier. It was an odd posture for a young child. His blue eyes seemed to piece Germany as he gazed through the paint and up at him. Germany was struck by just how similar the two looked. He recalled how he looked during childhood and saw that they could have been the exact same two people… but then again, he supposed they were. "This is him?"

"Yes." Italy smiled slightly. "The day I painted that, I said I wanted to paint a soldier. A warrior. I knew he would like to hear that. Especially knowing that he would leave for the war soon… I asked him to smile for me to paint it, and he said, 'A soldier doesn't smile'. He wanted me to paint him like that. Standing at attention."

Had Germany been paying attention, he would have seen Italy staring at him. He would have seen him consider the man in front of him with his hand leaning against the palm that was propped up on the back of the couch. He would have noticed the loving air that surrounded him as Italy mused that while there were many differences between the two, some core aspects remained the same.

But Germany was not paying attention. Because at that moment he felt an empty longing. An excitement as something at the base of his skull fought to be noticed. Fought to be remembered. He closed his eyes, furrowing his brow.

_Long green grass rippled in the wind. It was cold for summer, but only cold enough for a thin coat. But there they were, him standing in the sunlight as he faced an easel. _

"_Smile, Holy Rome, I want you to see how you look when you smile!" The voice was squeaky. So much lighter than his own. _

"_A soldier doesn't smile." He answered. His voice even at his age was rather low. With a smooth timbre. _

_A small face poked around the easel and grinned at him. "You're not a soldier until you leave for the war!" Italy pointed out. _

_Holy Rome didn't even have the heart to fight against the smile that rose from deep within him. He had heard about this from Ms. Hungary. An affection so deep for someone where you felt you would do anything for them. He knew it was love, but he had no idea how to communicate it. He had never been good with emotions. _

"_You should smile more, Holy Rome, you're so much more handsome when you do!" _

_Holy Rome snapped out of it, his smile dropping. "Well you wanted to paint a soldier, so paint a soldier!" He snapped. Realizing what he said, he was disappointed in his temper yet again. _

_Italy giggled behind the easel, putting him at ease. A couple moments later and Italy poked her head back over. "You can come see if you want!" _

_Holy Rome rounded the easel. He caught sight of Italy with the paintbrush, stroking at the canvas. Before he could see the painting, the memory faded. _

Germany opened his eyes to the painting again. The painting of Holy Rome. Of _him_.

"Germany?" Italy asked quietly.

Germany blinked, trying to make sense of what he just saw.

"Germany," Italy tried again, laying a hand on his leg.

Germany's gaze snapped to Italy. "I… remembered. When you made this painting."

"You did?" Italy asked, sounding like he hardly dared to believe it.

Germany nodded.

"And?"

"It was warm. And windy. And you were wearing a dress." _And I wanted to be with you. Even back then. _It was a loud thought that never escaped past his pursed hips.

Italy nodded reminiscently. "That sounds about right…"

Germany leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, once again scrubbing his hands down his face. "This is so…"

"Complicated?" Italy supplied.

He nodded, staring ahead at the surface of the table. "You could say that."

Germany continued his thousand-yard stare, his thoughts moving too fast for his brain. "This is just so much." He put his forehead in his hands again. After a moment of tense silence, he heard Italy's clothes rustling on his side of the couch. He felt a weight settle next to him on the couch and he felt a gentle, timid hand splay its fingers between his shoulder blades. For whatever reason, Germany ached for the touch. Even though their lives were both so entwined, it was like there was a chasm of unremembered history stretching out between them. Like there was a separation that couldn't be fixed. The touch of Italy's hand was like a reminder that he was still there. Despite what had transpired, Italy wasn't going to leave him. Not yet.

Almost as if Italy had sensed the thought, Germany felt Italy's arms wrap around his broad shoulders. He felt Italy burrow his face into his arm. For once, Germany didn't feel taken aback or shy at this touch. It was like it filled a new void in his heart. The void where he thought he knew what everything was and what it meant.

"I know it is. I… I'm sorry, Germany." Italy said, his voice muffled by the fabric of Germany's black t-shirt.

Germany at last removed his hands from his face, letting them fall between his knees. "What for?" He asked, trying to distance himself from the situation as Italy withdrew his arms. He was never one to run away, but there was so much going on in his head. He needed to escape it somehow. Even if that meant distancing himself from the situation. "I know something new about myself. Things are starting to make sense. Why I kept you around after the first world war even when you annoyed the _Scheiße_ out of me, why my brother treated me like I was about to break… he was worried I would remember. Maybe- maybe it was repressed memory that made me keep you around." He was unaware of how hurtful these words were, just trying to sound like he didn't care. Just trying to sound like he was looking at this logically.

Italy faced his lap, barely registering the hurtful words. "I'm sorry Holy Rome died. I'm sorry I kept this from you for so long. I thought it was fairer to you because… you're not Holy Rome anymore. You're Germany. It wouldn't have been fair to tell you who you were once. What I… what Holy Rome and I felt for each other at the time. It's not a fair expectation for anyone." He finally looked up at Germany, his eyes swimming in tears. "I… I didn't want you to- I didn't know what to do. I didn't want you to feel pressured, or- or like you had to be someone who you're not. Because you're not Holy Rome. Not anymore. You're _Germany._"

Germany straightened his back, the two considering each other. Their faces were now maybe a foot apart. Germany noticed as a ray of sunlight filtered across Italy's eyes that they were almost honey gold in the sun. Even through tears. Germany felt such a storm of emotion. A blend of anger. Sorrow. Relief. Maybe even a little bit of happiness. But more than anything, he felt too much. And to add to that? Here Italy was apologizing for trying to protect him. He had honored the promise he made Prussia until he felt that Germany was ready. He blinked and wondered what Italy was thinking. He wondered if Italy shared the strong urge he had to lean over and close the short distance between them.

_Gott_, what was he thinking? He turned away. "Wipe away the tears. It's a waste of time. You did what you did because you thought it was right, but it's time to move on." He stood. "We should probably think about dinner."

Italy stood, wiping his eyes with the hem of his untucked shirt. "Okay. Yeah, you're right. What do you want?"

Germany looked back at his friend, watching him clean himself up. He watched as Italy repaired himself to help him. To heal Germany, completely and unselfishly. _Gott, _it was a miracle that he ran into this man. Thinking about this, Germany felt a small smile come through. "I'm thinking pasta."

Italy gave a watery grin as he swiped away the last tear tracks.


	6. Chapter 6: Wine

Chapter 6: Wine

The two worked in the kitchen, Italy insisting on making home-made… soup? Broth? As Germany boiled the noodles. He was content to just watch Italy chop and stir and simmer from his seat on a bar stool opposite of him. Other than boiling pasta, there was nothing for him to do. They talked about things that didn't matter, reminiscing on Halloween parties and Christmas celebrations. Italy introduced the idea that he should host a holiday sometime. Perhaps Easter.

Germany nodded. "It's nice here in the spring."

Italy looked up from his work, brushing hair out of his face and behind his ear. "Yes. The flowers in my garden just start to bloom, and it smells so nice! It's the kind of weather that makes you want to go on a walk and enjoy life, you know?" Though his words were deceptively bright, Germany had noted the fact that Italy had been averting his gaze the entire evening.

Germany smiled slightly, hoping to reassure him. "It would be good to have everyone here."

Italy peered through his lashes at Germany. "Even America?"

"Hmm, maybe not him." Germany joked, standing to stir the pasta.

"Oh, I know you have a soft spot for him." Italy protested, dumping the cutting board into the sink. "Care to wash this for me?"

Germany stepped over and started the water, waiting for it to heat up. The kitchen was starting to smell of spices. "I don't have a soft spot for him."

Italy smiled, lightly pushing into Germany's ribs with his elbow as he walked past him. "Sure." Germany returned the smile. It seemed that now that the touch barrier had been broken, things were finally less tense.

The conversation faded as Germany enjoyed the warm kitchen, the tile underneath his socked feet, and Italy's quiet humming. It was serene and peaceful. He gazed out the window facing Italy's back garden, noting that Italy had strung up strands of round lights through the branches of the trees, barely visible against the searing light of the sunset against the clouds.

"I think Japan is in love with him."

Germany blinked, shocked by Italy's idea. "Really?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. He began scrubbing at the cutting board.

"Mm-hmm!"

Germany towel-dried the board and strode over to Italy. "I don't believe you. Where does this go?" He lifted the cutting board up slightly.

Italy pointed to a narrow cupboard as he stirred the pasta sauce. "There. Have you seen how they interact?"

"Yes." Germany raised a single eyebrow as he put up the cupboard. "They talk as friends." He opened the fridge and peered into the cheese drawer. "You have no parmesan."

Italy set his spoon on a spoon rest and walked over. "How did I run out of parmesan?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if you ate it all."

Germany looked over as Italy plucked a note from the door.

Italy read the note in Italian. "_I __got the last of the Parmesan. The Potato Bastard will take you to a farmer's market and you'll have to get more_. Romano."

"Romano took it?" Germany asked, surprised. "He must have stolen it while I was back in your office."

Italy shook his head with a fond smile, too distracted to question why Germany was back there in the first place. "He's sneaky when he wants to be. He wants you to take me to a farmer's market to get more."

Germany hummed. "I'm sure we can find one over the next couple days."

"That would be fun!" Italy agreed, stuffing the note in his pocket.

"So you were saying?" Germany asked, shutting the fridge door. "About Japan and America?"

"Oh, so you're interested?" Italy asked with a grin, untying his apron and hanging it on a magnetized hook on the fridge.

Germany felt his cheeks heat up. "I just want to know how Japan is doing. It's what friends do."

Italy quirked an eyebrow. "Mm-hmm... have you ever noticed that when America walks in, Japan is one of the first to notice? He always seems to have time to watch a scary movie with him, no matter what he has going on."

"That's a friend thing." Germany protested. "I do the same for you." Despite the neutral tone of his voice, he felt shaky. Sure, he did the same thing, but what he felt for Italy was beyond friendship.

"Well yes," Italy allowed. "But is Japan really the type? You're really affectionate. He's not."

"I'm not affectionate!" Germany protested loudly.

Italy turned off the burner to the pasta and carried it over to the strainer. Germany hadn't even realized he'd forgotten about it. "Sure you are! Everyone's affectionate in their own way. Like when you remind me to grab an umbrella when it rains, or when you taught me how to throw a hand grenade, or how sometimes when I fall asleep on the couch you carry me to bed!"

Germany grunted. "All that is just human decency." He determinedly ignored the other man as he pulled two bowls from the cupboard.

"You are affectionate in your actions. Not in words." Italy continued, carrying the strainer back to the stove and dumping the pasta into the liquid in the pot. He stirred the contents and sniffed, sighing. "So is Japan. But he is less open about it. He is antisocial and often doesn't enjoy going to other people's houses, but he goes to America's more frequently than anyone's. More frequent than yours and ours, even!"

Germany considered this, grabbing two spoons. "Suppose you were somehow right. What about America? How does he feel?"

"What does he always say? His catchphrase, maybe?"

"... 'I'm hungry'?"

Italy laughed. "Other than that."

"Well, he always refers to himself as a hero." Germany answered, carrying the dishes to the table. "What do you want to drink?"

Italy tipped the pot over, pouring the soup into a serving bowl. "Wine, please."

"What kind?" Germany grabbed two wine glasses.

"Hmm... how about the Masseto Toscana? It should go well with the soup."

Germany crouched by the wine rack, his eyebrows furrowed. He started pulling the bottles out one by one, examining the labels. "Why is him calling himself a hero relevant?"

Italy carried the bowl over to the table. "Because he cares a lot about his self image, right?"

Germany growled to himself as he pulled the third bottle of wine off the rack. "So?"

"Why would he call Japan over to watch scary movies constantly if it made him look like a coward?"

Germany prayed for the sweet release of death as he pulled the sixth bottle of wine halfway off the rack before noticing that the label was wrong.

Italy crouched next to him and considered the wine rack for a moment before removing a bottle from the bottom row. "Perhaps because America wants an excuse for Japan to come over."

Straightening along with Italy, Germany grunted an affirmation.

"You think I'm right?" Italy asked, delightedly beaming as he noticed Germany had nothing to say.

"_Nein_." Germany answered, making his way to the table. "I just can't believe this conversation is actually starting to make logical sense." He took a seat.

Italy shook his head, also sitting. "You just wait, Germany. Watch them spend time together and you'll have to believe me!"

Germany grunted, ladleing soup into his bowl. "Not likely. What is this you've made?"

Italy let the conversation slide. "_Pasta e Fagioli!_" He proclaimed, popping the cork of the wine and pouring himself half a glass. He offered his hand for Germany's glass.

Germany passed it. He always preferred a cold beer to anything else, but it wasn't like he hated wine. "Sounds good." He accepted his glass and took a bite of the soup, the warmth seeping through his entire being and soothing all the emotional ache of the day.

"It's good?" Italy asked.

Germany realized his eyes had closed as he opened them. "It's _wunderbare_."

"Great!" Italy's entire being seemed to brighten at his words.

"I was thinking about what we could do tomorrow. It has been so long since I've taken time to tour your country. I was thinking we could walk around Rome."

Italy laughed, taking a sip of wine. "If you want to see what has changed here, Rome isn't the best place to do it, Germany, everything is so old!"

Germany hummed. "Perhaps. I just remember we had a good time there."

"Aww, Germany, that's so sweet!"

"Germany attempted to hide his embarrassment by tilting his wine glass upward and taking a sip.

"How is it?" Italy asked.

Germany tried to think of something intelligent to say. He knew that Italy was something of a wine aficianado. "It... tastes like wine. Good wine. It tastes good."

Italy smiled like he was trying to hold in laughter. "I hope so, I have been saving it for a special occasion!"

"What special occasion?" Germany hoped Italy didn't intend to mention the discoveries of today. That was the last thing he wanted to think about.

Italy raised his wine glass in a toast. "Your first vacation since 1990!"

Germany raised his glass, smiling. The two clinked their glasses.

"This wine was bottled that same year, you know." Italy quipped. "Very convenient! Almost like it was meant to be!"

"We took that vacation in Turkey, yes?" Germany asked, taking another sip of wine. It was starting to grow on him.

Italy nodded. "Yes! Your latest vacation and it is with me almost three decades later... if that isn't a reason to open up a 2,000 euro bottle of wine, I don't know what is!"

Germany choked on his drink. He coughed and hacked, bending forward on the table as the worst of the coughs passed.

"Are you okay?" Italy asked.

"_What the hell_?!" He cursed in German.

"Gesundheit." Italy offered.

Germany stared at the glass sitting on the table, wondering how much money he had drank in the two sips he had. "This wine was 2,000 euros?!"

Italy shrugged. "Well it was actually around 2,300, but... I'm not really particular about that sort of thing."

"Jesus Christ." Germany gasped.

"Well if you're religious, yes!"

Germany squinted confusedly at the man sitting opposite of him.

"Get it? Wine? Blood of Christ?" Italy tried, stirring his soup. "It's a Catholic joke."

Germany lay his forehead in his palm. "My God, Italy."

"Actually, he's _my _God unless you're Cath-"

"Italy!"

Germany lay in bed a few hours later, his hair still slightly damp from his shower. He allowed it to hang over his forehead and brush his eyebrows as he stared at the wall. Italy's guest room had always been beautiful, what with the four poster bed and the glass double doors that lead to a balcony. The moon was half full tonight, allowing a soft blue light to spill into the room. What exactly had happened today? Well, he knew what happened. But it was just so much to process. How do you process learning that the past you thought you had wasn't even half of your life? That you had an entire past that you didn't even remember? That you died and somehow miraculously came back to life? It was all so much. There was really nothing he could do for that except give himself time to acclimate himself to this feeling. To this desire to learn about himself.

He realized that he was so busy worrying about all that that he had barely taken the time to consider what this meant for Italy. For him. For the both of them, maybe. They used to be... together? Maybe? Did that even count? Here Germany thought he had never even had his first kiss when he had it with Italy of all people. And Italy... he'd loved him too, once. That was the worst part. That in the past he had what was perhaps his greatest desire and he couldn't even remember it. And beside that was the question of if Italy was even his friend because he was Germany. Did Italy stick around for who he was now, or for a ghost of someone Germany didn't even know? Of someone he didn't even remember? The question had been gnawing at his thoughts all day. A dull ache in the back of his mind as he joked around with Italy and spent the rest of the day in what could have been considered a domestic atmosphere. He sighed aloud and turned onto his back. It was then that he saw a shadow in the doorway.

"Germany?" It said.

Germany sat up in his bed, allowing the covers to fall off his shoulders and into his lap. "Italy." He rubbed his eyes. "Couldn't sleep?"

Italy stepped forward into the moonlight, his tan skin unusually pale in the blue light. He wore a T-shirt that was slightly too large for him over a pair of boxers. His hair was tousled, but Germany figured that was from tossing and turning more than anything else. "No."

Germany nodded. "Me neither."

Italy's right hand crossed over his body and gripped his left wrist sheepishly. "... Would you mind if I shared your bed with you tonight?"

Uh-oh. "At least you actually asked this time." Germany sighed, scooching over and pulling the covers back for him. "It beats you sneaking in while I'm sleeping."

Italy smiled, his shy air disappearing entirely. "Yes! Thank you, Germany!"

Germany lay back down, glad for the darkness as it shielded Italy from the glowing blush on his cheeks. "_Ja ja_, just try not to take all the covers this time."

"I will. Thank you, Germany."

Silence reigned as Germany turned on his side, his back facing Italy. He shut his eyes, willing himself to go to sleep. Minutes passed and he didn't get any more tired.

"Something is wrong." It wasn't a question.

Germany didn't even turn his head. "No."

The weight on the bed shifted as Italy turned to face Germany, propping himself up on his elbow. "You're lying. I said earlier I would answer all your questions, remember?"

"I said there was nothing wrong, and there is nothing wrong." Germany snapped. "Why can't you just listen?"

"Do you remember when we became friends?"

Germany furrowed his brows. He wondered if Italy had figured out what was bothering him. "Unfortunately."

"I say a lot of things, Germany. I love to talk! But I remember something I said that day. I said that we could protect each other, and I would disappoint you! It was a promise I made when we formed our alliance!"

"You realize that was not in the formal agree-"

"-Point being," Italy interrupted. "It was a promise I made when we formed our alliance. Our friendship! So when I don't listen to what you say, I am only making good on my promise."

Germany turned over at this, fixating his beady glare on Italy.

He was smiling uncaringly, like Germany had just offered to tell him a joke. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response.

Germany contemplated what he said, wondering if he should even bother. How would it look if he asked Italy that question? Would that make things weird? Worst of all, what if Italy _had _befriended Germany because he was Holy Rome before? What then? "It really isn't a big deal."

"It is to me." Italy said. He delivered it like his words had no weight. Like it wasn't the very thing Germany needed to hear most.

Germany sighed and faced the ceiling again. He tried to speak as though he weren't contemplating this all day. "When you found me, did you just want to become my friend to see if I was Holy Rome?"

There was only the briefest pause.

"Germany, do you really think that?" Italy asked, his voice heavy.

Germany frowned, not tearing his gaze away from the ceiling. "I don't know. I was just wondering."

"No!" Italy protested, shaking his head furiously. "Not at all! I only started suspecting it after World War Two!"

Germany finally looked at Italy. "Really?"

"Of course! I thought you just looked like him! The same way that Canada looks like America, or like Sealand looks like a gremlin! Before I was an investigator, Germany, I was your friend. First and foremost, always and forever!"

Germany felt a massive weight lift off his shoulders. "Oh. That's good." He said.

Italy lay down and faced him, his brown eyes gazing cautiously into his blue. His mouth split into a smile. "What do you want to do in Rome tomorrow?"

"Mm... we have to see the colosseum for sure." Germany answered, fully aware that Italy was trying to distract him.

"It's been so long since I've been seen it." Italy reminisced.

"How long?"

Italy frowned, thinking.

Germany noticed Italy's eyes were half closed, weighed down by exhaustion.

"Probably... actually, I don't think I've been there since it was still an actual arena..."

"How long ago was that?" Germany asked, slightly shocked.

"Mm..." Italy yawned. "I don't know. It's too late to think."

The corners of Germany's mouth lifted as Italy's eyes fluttered closed.

"Good night, Germany."

"Good night, Italy." Germany let his eyes close as well, immediately sinking into a heavy and merciful sleep.


	7. Chapter 7: Singing

Chapter 7: Singing

Germany faded into consciousness slowly, the light from the windows shining through his eyelids. _Verdammt, _he forgot to set his alarm. Guess a morning jog was off the table. The second thing he was aware of was the body curled into his. Of his arm around a soft waist. Italy's forehead lay a few inches from Germany's own, his clasped hands resting between their chests as they rose and fell. Germany squinted slightly from the bright light of the sun. For a few unguarded moments, he let them roam across Italy's relaxed face.

His long eyelashes cast thin, almost invisible shadows underneath his closed eyes. His hair was pushed away from his forehead, allowing the sunlight to spill across his face. Germany pondered on the fact that he had never noticed the light freckles that were peppered across the bridge of his nose. They were so light and small that they were probably impossible to see from further away.

Germany took a breath, carefully withdrawing his arm from Italy's waist. It was probably better that he leave now and make them breakfast than try to explain to Italy why he was awake and still in bed. His bare feet hit the carpet of the room as he stood, stretched, and scratched the back of his head before he looked back down at Italy. He noticed that the covers had settled on the dip of his waist. Before he could consider what he was doing, Germany bent over and pulled the covers to rest on Italy's shoulders. Italy stirred, but continued his slumber.

Germany's first order of business was to make something for breakfast. He rummaged around the kitchen, finding the few ingredients required to make German breakfast pancakes. Eggs, milk, flour, salt. Simple. This recipe was the taste of his childhood, as this was about the only thing Prussia was capable of making himself. As a result, he didn't even use a recipe as he mixed the ingredients together. He had memorized the consistency and taste. By the time the oven was preheated, the batter was already poured into a greased pan. He set the batter in the oven before pacing back to the guest room, being quiet as he strode across the carpet to the bathroom.

Before he went to bed the night before, he made sure to unpack all his stuff and set his toiletries in the bathroom. He turned on the water to brush his teeth, looking at himself in the mirror. He lowered the toothbrush. Perhaps Italy could look at himself in the mirror and see who he was before Holy Rome fell. Maybe he could look back and reminisce on how much he had changed since then. But all Germany could remember as he looked in the mirror was when he was young Germany. Never Holy Rome. Sure, he could see that they were one and the same. But when he tried to visualize himself as Holy Rome, all he could see was when he was living at Prussia's house, trying to figure out paperwork designed for a full grown man.

He finished brushing his teeth, leaning against the bathroom counter. He sighed to himself, wondering just how long it would take to adjust to this revelation. He pulled his hair gel from the cabinet, and combed his hair. Did Holy Rome grease his hair back, or did he let it hang down? He squirted gel into his palms and rubbed them together, running them over his platinum blonde hair. He gave himself a once-over in the mirror before nodding with satisfaction and rinsing his hands off. He left the bathroom, looking over at Italy as he crossed over to the dresser. The wood drawer scraped against the body of the dresser, causing Germany to cringe. He gathered his clothes, his grimace deepening as the drawers continued to scrape. He finally finished gathering his clothes. He padded lightly across the carpeted floor back to the bathroom, stopping and turning as he heard rustling on the bed.

Italy stretched and yawned before opening his eyes. "Hmm... good morning, Germany. You're already up?"

Germany glanced down at the watch on top of the stack of clothes. "Of course. It's almost nine."

"Ooh! I got up early!" Italy cheered, sitting up.

"I don't know how you get anything done." Germany chastised, shaking his head. "Get dressed and set the table. Breakfast will be ready soon."

Italy stood from the bed. "I like it when you come over, Germany, I wake up to breakfast!"

"_Ja Ja, _It will be ready in about twenty minutes."

Italy walked out of the room, humming some song to himself.

Germany locked the door to the bedroom, and changed into his outfit for the day. He surveyed himself in the mirror. He was wearing a barely-blue dry fit T-shirt with a pair of khaki cargo pants. He had pulled some black military boots over them. He turned slightly to the side. Overall, he looked pretty good. He didn't look nearly as pasty with this shirt on. To finish off, he grabbed his pair of sunglasses off the dresser and left the room. He smelled the pancake in the oven as he walked in the kitchen, surprised to see that Italy had already gotten dressed and was sitting at the set table.

The circular table had been draped in a white tablecloth, with two plates set across from eachother. At the right of each plate there was a tall glass of orange juice and Italy had taken a long, narrow glass from the cupboard and stuck in a couple blue cornflowers from the garden. Italy was sitting there, folding forks and knives into fabric napkins. "_Ciao_, Germany! I set the table!"

"I see that. Looks nice." Germany said, setting his sunglasses on the counter and grabbing two potholders. He opened the oven door and pulled out the German breakfast pancake, nodding to himself as he noticed it had baked perfectly.

Italy was at his shoulder, sniffing. "Mm! Is that a breakfast casserole?"

"No. It's a German breakfast pancake. You eat it with syrup and butter."

"Mm! I'll go find them!" Italy volunteered, scampering off.

Germany carried the hot dish over to the table, placing it on the potholders. "We're ready."

Italy bounced over, carrying the butter and maple syrup. "Yay! I'm so hungry."

"You're always hungry." Germany said.

Italy nodded. "But this is something new! New food always makes me more hungry!"

Germany sat down, hoping Italy's expectations weren't too high. "It's really nothing. There are only five ingredients." He cut away a piece, offering a hand out for Italy's plate.

Italy passed it over. "You're a great cook, Germany! It'll be delicious!"

Germany passed the plate back, a piece of the bubbly pancake weighing it down. He was about to continue the conversation as Italy's phone rang in his back pocket, playing the _Crystal Gems _theme song. Gemany furrowed his brow. "Who calls during breakfast?"

Italy shrugged, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. As he looked down at it, Germany could read that the screen said _il fratellino_.

"Seborga." Germany said, unsurprised. If there was anyone he knew to call during a mealtime...

Italy swiped the screen.

Seborga's tinny breathing came through the speaker. "_Che succede, stronza_!"

"Speakerphone, Seborga!" Italy warned, sounding slightly harried.

"Oh, my bad. I'll translate: What's up, bitch?! and Germany and Japan, probably? _Ciao_, guys!" Seborga corrected.

"Just Germany and I!" Italy answered, leaning on his hand as he cut away a piece of the pancake.

"Where's Japan? I like that guy!"

Italy peered over at Germany across the table, gesturing toward the phone.

Germany cleared his throat awkwardly. "He had to go back home. Apparently his boss needed him."

"Aww, shame. How long are you staying, Germany?"

"Six days." He answered.

"Mm... lucky you, Veniciano, huh?" Seborga added coyly.

Italy raised an eyebrow. "What-?"

"-You get to spend all that time with your best friend!" Seborga finished.

Germany felt his cheeks heat up, well aware that according to Prussia, Seborga likely knew how he felt about Italy.

"Oh, yes!" Italy brightened up, looking excitedly at Germany. "We're touring Rome today!"

"Whoa, really? I love it there!" Seborga replied. "What are you going to see?"

"We've already decided on the Colluseum," Italy frowned, thinking. "We wanted to talk about what we would do today, but..."

"He fell asleep." Germany finished, shaking his head.

"Sounds like my brother." Seborga laughed. "You guys should stop by my neck of the woods sometime!"

"Ooh, I would love that! It's been too long!" Italy agreed. He turned to Germany. "Have you ever been, Germany?"

Germany hummed. "I can't say I have. Might be nice."

"_Might?_" Seborga asked. "It's the hidden jewel of Italy! Even better than Rome, if you ask me. I'd be glad to have you! Veniciano, could you take me off the speaker for a moment?"

Italy nodded, not looking surprised by the sudden change in subject. Apparently, this was behavior he was accustomed to. "Sure." He swiped the phone, holding it to his ear. He shoveled a final bite of the pancake into his mouth before he left the table. "Hmm?"

Germany picked at his food as he heard Italy's voice go down the hallway. "_I'm fine. It was just a shock, you know_?" There was a pause. Germany heard a door open. "_Yes, but_..." His sentence was cut off as the door shut.

After he finished his meal, Germany cleared away his dishes and put them in a dishwasher. The kitchen was clean by the time Italy had finished his phone call and had come back.

"I'm sorry that I left the mess to you, Germany." Italy apologized, reclaiming his seat at the table.

Germany slung the damp drying towel over his shoulder as he finished drying up the last dish. "You don't fool me for a second, Italy. You're glad you didn't have to clean up."

Italy giggled, picking up his glass. "You got me."

"You did bring up a fair point earlier, though. What did you want to see in Rome?" Germany asked, taking his seat at the table.

"The Pantheon, the Sistine Chapel... they're so pretty."

"That's it?"

"The Spanish Steps, probably."

"That isn't much." Said Germany.

"Well if we plan on walking and enjoying the weather, it's plenty! Plus if we stop for lunch, maybe dinner... plus if we want to come back and take a siesta..."

Germany considered this. "I suppose so... the only concern will be crowds."

Italy shook his head. "Actually, November is one of the least busy times! The only thing we _would _have to worry about would be rain, but this week is miraculously dry! And not too hot, either. You came at the perfect time!"

"Hmm... very convenient."

"Right? I'd guess that's fate telling you to take vacations more often." Italy replied.

"Should we go after breakfast?' Germany asked.

Italy nodded, shoveling the rest of his food in his mouth. "Done!" He said, his voice muffled by a mouthful of food.

"Gross. Take care of your dishes and I'll pack a backpack." Germany said.

Italy nodded, carrying his plate and glass back.

Germany shook his head as he went back to his room to grab a backpack. He threw in his wallet, ensuring that his I.D. was there. It was unique, showing both a front, and side photo. On the bottom right was an insignia showing that he was a personification of a nation. His eye color was described, as well as his height and age. 148 years old. In parentheses before the number, was a line of text that said: _German Empire_. Luckily, the section that detailed his name said _Germany_. He would have to remind Italy to grab his. He stopped in the kitchen to throw various snacks in the bag. Though his paycheck as a nation was generous, he didn't plan on wasting it frivolously.

"Italy?" He called through the house.

Thundering footsteps through the hall answered him. "Here!" He was donned in a white T-shirt and a pair of denim shorts. Germany was taken aback as he noticed the Gucci fanny pack buckled around his waist.

"Italy, I don't think it's a good idea to wear that out."

"What, you mean this?" Italy pointed at the fanny pack.

Germany nodded. "It's going to be a target for pick-pockets. Not to mention it's ugly."

Italy gasped. "Ugly?! It's the height of fashion!"

Germany squinted. "Why did you even buy it?"

"Romano told me they were cool." Italy shrugged. "He has five at his house."

Germany sighed. He doubted he would ever understand Italy and his siblings. "If you're fine with being robbed..."

"I won't be!" Italy assured him, grabbing his keys out of the key bowl.

"No you don't, we're driving my car." Germany said, leaning over to grab his own keys. He tried not to notice just how close he was to Italy. His back was nearly touching his chest.

"Fine." Italy said, closing the space between him and leaning back against Germany. "You can drive."

Germany cleared his throat, stepping backward, catching Italy by the shoulders as he almost fell backwards. "Whoa." He pushed Italy back into a standing position. "I don't want to be stranded in Rome when your keys are stolen with your ugly fanny pack."

"But it won't be stolen!" Italy protested. He grabbed a sketchbook off the counter and shoved it into Germany's backpack as he followed Germany through a door in the hallway to the garage.

The air was several degrees hotter in there. Germany noticed junk in cardboard boxes stacked all around them, providing only a narrow path for them to walk toward the car. He needed to get Italy to organize the garage. "And you can guaruntee this?" He asked, opening the door to his black car.

"Well... no." Italy admitted, sliding in the passenger side. "But if it gets stolen, you can protect me and get it back from the thief!"

Germany started the car, rolling down the windows immediately. He wanted to enjoy the nice weather. "Unlikely." He backed the car out of the garage. "I would probably be doing you a favor by letting the thief take it." He teased, starting down the driveway. He looked out the side window. Italy's estate was perched on the top of a hill, with a spiral road encircling it to the bottom. Through the canopy of the trees, the city was sprawled beneath them in a crowd of matchbox buildings and little ant cars.

Italy harrumphed in his seat. "Well if you're going to be mean to me, I'm going to control the music."

Germany smiled to himself, directing his eyes back to the road. "That's fair." Germany wasn't a fan of Italy's music, but this trip was to comfort him. "Go ahead."

Italy raised his eyebrows and smiled, apparently not expecting Germany's consent. "Yay!" He pulled out his phone. "Now... what should I turn on? Ooh!"

Looking over briefly to Italy's phone, he saw a song called: '_Per un Milione_'.

Italy looked out the window as the tones of the song rang through the car, his light voice joining in as the lyrics started with an accelerated beat. "_Ti giuro che l'attesa aumenta il desiderio, È un conto alla rovescia__…"_

Though Germany couldn't understand what they were saying, he found his head subtly bouncing along with the beat of the music as they drove off the hill and onto the country roads. The song appeared to be a rap song of sorts, and it had a bit of a relaxed feel to it. As they drove closer to Rome, there was a mix of Italian and English songs, very few of which Germany knew of. And Italy sang to every single one. While this would have ordinarily annoyed him, Germany was initially too taken with the warmth, the sun, and the relaxation of driving that he couldn't find himself to clear. As they were on the edge of the city, though, he was quickly running out of patience.

"Ooh, I love this song!" Italy cheered as guitar tones came through. He turned up the music yet again. Bradley Cooper started singing, and Germany recognized the song immediately. America had been posting it on his Instagram story for weeks now.

Italy appeared to be content with just listening until Lady Gaga came on, during which Italy sang quietly. As they pulled up to a stoplight, Italy vibrated with excitement.

"Germany, listen to me hit this high note."

"Oh-"

"_I'm off the deep end, watch as I dive in, I'll never _meet _the ground..." _Italy screeched, his voice cracking.

Germany winced. He noticed the other people parked around them were turning their heads and staring. "Italy, please stop."

"No- _CRASH THROUGH THE SURFACE, WHERE THEY CAN'T HURT US," _Italy scream-sang the song even louder, prompting Germany to roll up the windows with the hope that Italy's cracking voice wouldn't be heard by strangers. "It's not working."

"Obviously! You can't sing!" Germany barked over the bass rattling his speakers.

"My heart can!" Italy replied quickly, clearing his throat as Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper harmonized the next lyrics.

"Your heart sounds terrible..." Germany muttered to himself, resigning himself to his fate.

Italy ignored him, leaning forward as he prepared for the next part. As Lady Gaga began vocalizing, so did he. His absurdly high voice strained against the low notes, but followed as it launched into the high note. Italy spasmed excitedly as he held it, grabbing Germany's shoulder and shaking it frantically.

The light finally turned green, Germany batting his hand away as he drove. "Yes, good job, you can sing. Now can you please stop!"

Italy excitedly sang the chorus on pitch this time, excitedly punching the air with each beat of the drum. Too excited to care about singing properly with the rest of the song, he shouted out the last bit of the song as it grated on Germany's ears.

As the ending notes faded out, Germany found that he was somewhat impressed with how well Italy did singing the song. Granted, he would have rather gone without hearing Italy's pitchy singing during the beginning and ending, but it was still rather impressive.

Italy gasped as the next song came on. "Germany! We should sing that song together sometime!"

"What?" Germany asked, turning the corner. "No."

"Why not? I bet you could do it if you really tried!"

Germany shook his head. "I don't sing."

"Aww, but Germany, I bet you have a pretty voice! You do when you're not shouting at me."

Germany was starting to get irritated. "You're getting close to me shouting at you now."

Italy shrugged, knowing it was an empty threat. "Okay, but I'm just saying..."

Germany was about to reply when Italy sat forward in his seat, pointing.

"Look! The colosseum!"

Indeed, it was standing down the street. Germany was pleased to see that there were not too many people around it. Not that it would have mattered. A quick flash of the I.D. and him and Italy would be allowed first priority into any cultural or historical attraction for free. One of the perks of being a nation, he supposed. But it wasn't one he utilized often.

"It doesn't look busy!" Italy added, sitting back in his seat.

"Did you bring your I.D.?"

Italy unzipped the ugly fanny pack, withdrawing his wallett. "Yup!" He showed it to Germany, the photos having a hint of a smile.

"Good. We're going to need it."

Italy smiled, looking back out the window.


	8. Chapter 8: When In Rome

Chapter 8: When in Rome

Germany drove around, eventually parking on a side street a couple blocks away from the colloseum. As he got out of the car, he reached in the backseat and grabbed his backpack. He pulled out his sunglasses and donned them, glad that there was a slight breeze in the air. Without it, the heat and humidity would have been stifling.

Italy scurried over to where he was, latching onto his arm and pulling Germany along with him. "Come on! We have to see everything!"

Germany fast-walked up beside Italy, not pulling his arm out of his grip as they walked. "The colosseum will still be there in the ten minutes it takes for us to get there."

Italy slowed down. "I suppose so... I'm just so excited! It's been so long since we've taken a vacation together!" His smile dimmed slightly. "I only wish Japan was here... that would be perfect."

"Hm." Germany pulled out his phone. It was a Wednesday. It was farfetched that Japan would get a day off, but Japan was similar to Germany in the way that he sparingly took vacations. Perhaps his boss would grace Japan with a day off in the middle of the week. "Perhaps he can come down tomorrow to spend the day with us." He sent Japan a text inviting him.

Italy gasped. "That's a great idea! We can all go down to Seborga's place tomorrow! I know he likes Japan."

Germany hummed. "Japan seems to make a lot of unlikely friends."

Italy laughed, leaning into Germany's arm. "You're right, but every introvert needs a couple extroverts to pull them around! Kind of like you and I!"

"In your case, literally pulling me."

The two lapsed into silence, enjoying their time together and the beautiful scenery around them. The sun's rays hit the windows of the shops, illuminating the people milling within. The two stopped every few minutes as Italy insisted on taking photos. Photos of trees, flowers, and shops. Finally, right outside the colosseum, Italy tightened his hold on Germany's arm.

"Germany, smile! I want to take a picture of us!"

Germany looked at the phone Italy had in his extended arm. "No."

Italy lowered the phone, looking dismayed. "What? Why?"

"I don't smile."

Italy released Germany's arm. "Of course you do! Maybe you don't realize it, but you do all the time! It's a lovely smile!"

"I still won't." Germany retorted, missing the touch.

Italy frowned. "Fine, I'll just keep bugging you until you do!"

"You forget that I have put up with you annoying me for the past 80 years." Germany replied, determinedly ignoring two passing ladies who gave him a double-take, muttering to each other.

Italy took his arm again, holding up the phone. "Fine then, Mr. Grumpy-Pants. Ruin my memories of vacation with your frowny face!"

"_Excuse me_," A girl's voice chimed in Italian before Germany could reply.

Germany glanced behind him.

A girl with jaw-length blonde hair wearing a sundress did an awkward half-jog-half-walk over to them. She looked to be in her mid-teens, her various brochures and translator book sticking out of her purse an obvious indicator to Germany that she was a foreigner.

Italy followed Germany's gaze. "_Yes? Is there somethign I can do for you?" _

"Uhh..." She pulled the pocket-sized translator book out of her purse, holding up a finger. "_Un momento_." She attempted.

Looking at her book, Germany noticed it was in English. "You speak English?"

The girl looked up, obviously relieved. "Oh, good! You speak English! Yeah, I am."

Germany noted her American accent.

Italy brightened. "Oh! That explains why you tried to speak to me in Spanish, I guess."

The girl had a visible blush on her ears. "Oh, yeah... sorry, someone I know is learning Italian and she said it was a lot like Spanish, so I just kind of hoped... sorry about that."

Italy smiled and waved his hand. "It's fine! Languages are hard. Was there something we could help you with?"

"Oh, yeah." The girl cleared her throat. "I saw you were trying to take a photo and I was wondering if you wanted me to take one for you guys. My girlfriend is pretty short, so I know how hard it is to take couples' photos when there's a height difference."

Germany felt his cheeks heat up as he pulled off his sunglasses. "You're mistaken. We're not a couple."

The blush on the girl's ears spread to her cheeks. "Oh, I'm sorry! I just saw you were holding his- it doesn't matter. I'm sorry." Her eyes widened with recognition. "Oh my God. You're Germany."

Germany was suddenly very aware of the fact that Italy was still holding onto his arm. He moved it out of his grip. "Er... yes."

"Then you must be Italy." The girl realized, moving her focus onto Italy as she turned to retreat. "I'm sorry I bothered you gu-"

"No, wait!" Italy said with a friendly smile, holding out his phone to her. "Could I actually take you up on that offer?"

Germany looked at the smaller nation, noticing that he was trying to calm her down. He suddenly felt slightly guilty about how he snapped. "Um... a photo would be nice."

The girl looked up at him, still blushing. "Uh, sure!" She stepped back.

Italy slung his arm around Germany's waist. Germany, trying not to look awkward, rested his on Italy's shoulders as he smiled stiffly.

There were a few seconds of silence as the girl snapped a few photos before coming and returning Italy his phone. "Here, I hope you're happy with them."

Italy took it and scrolled through the camera roll, grinning. "Yeah, they're great!"

The girl smiled. "Good! I'm glad to hear it. Sorry again."

"You're fine!" Italy assured, grinning at her. He looked up at Germany expectantly.

Germany looked at the girl and cleared his throat. "_Ja, _it's not a big deal."

"Thanks. Have a good day, guys!" The girl turned as she waved.

"Bye, thanks for the picture!" Italy called to her retreating back.

Germany looked over Italy's shoulder as he looked at the photos again. They were rather good, he supposed. They would have been better if he had been able to just keep a neutral expression. He looked at Italy's face now, watching as he flicked through the photos, making little comments about them. Germany hardly payed attention, his mind dwelling on how that girl thought they were a couple. For whatever reason, that didn't bother him too much. _You know the reason. _His mind chided. _It's because you wish you were._

Germany heard a chime in his pocket, startling him out of his thoughts. He reached in his back pocket and checked the text.

_I got approval from my boss. I will be down tomorrow morning at nine._

"Japan can come tomorrow."

"Really?!" Italy lurched forward, selecting the _face time _option on the screen.

"You couldn't have asked first?" Germany asked dryly.

Italy shrugged. "I get excited!"

Japan came up on screen as Italy finished, wearing his reading glasses. "Hello,"

"Hi, Japan!" Italy ripped the phone out of Germany's hands, ignoring his noises of protest. "I can't wait for you to come tomorrow!"

Japan smiled. To anyone who didn't know him that well, they would think he was completely serene. But Germany and Italy knew that this was Japan's equivalent to vibrating with excitement. "I can't wait to come. What are your plans?"

"We're going to visit Seborga! He said he missed you ealier this morning when he called!"

Japan raised an eyebrow. "I find that hard to believe. We talked for maybe three minutes."

"Plenty of time for him, apparently." Germany added, peering over Italy's shoulder. "Hi, Japan."

"Hello, Germany." Japan replied. "It looks like you're outside!"

Italy nodded, turning the camera around toward the colosseum. "We're at the colosseum!"

"I see... can you turn me around now?"

Germany chuckled.

Italy laughed, turning him back around. "Sorry."

Japan smiled, shaking his head. "You're okay. How are you feeling, Italy?"

Italy rubbed the back of his head. "Much better. I talked it out with France, we're good again!"

"I'm glad to hear it." Japan said, looking relieved. "When he called the other day to check on you he sounded worried."

"Well it's all cleared up!"

Japan turned a questioning eye onto Germany. "And what about you, Germany?"

Germany met the deep brown eyes, noting the extra layer of trepidation. Of worry. Of concern. Almost like something happened to him instead of Italy. Germany's suspicions then clicked into place. Somehow, Japan knew about Holy Rome. Not just about how France had killed him, but that Germany once was Holy Rome. And perhaps even that Holy Rome and Italy had a mutual affection for each other. "Fine." Germany could hear the confusion in his own voice. How did Japan know?

"Good. Glad to hear it." Japan heard the tone of Germany's voice. The two shared a look: _We'll discuss it later._

Italy seemed to be picking up on the... whatever it was between them. "How are you doing, Japan? Is the boss working you too hard?"

Japan snapped out of it and shrugged slightly. "Not really. Just a briefing on the unusual amount of foreigners coming to Kyoto. Nothing that couldn't have been covered in an email." Japan added the last part wryly.

"That's the reason you went home?" Germany asked.

Japan nodded. "Unfortunately. Even now my boss just has be doing busywork. If it weren't for that meeting, I could have been there with you now. Well I'm sorry to say, but I have to go. It's time for dinner over here. Then I'm going to pack, get a good night's sleep, and make my way over there."

Italy jumped with excitement. "Awesome! You have your spare key, don't you? That way if you get home before we do you can get in?"

Japan's eyes widened slightly. "You realize that I'm leaving tomorrow morning, right?"

"Nonsense!" Italy shook his head. "Get over here as soon as possible! We can have a sleepover! Then you don't have to get up early to come all the way over here! Just pack and get over here." He turned to Germany. "We can be home for dinner, right? We can stop somewhere and get some food and bring it back for Japan!"

Germany frowned, thinking about it. If they started making their way back to the car at four, they would have plenty of time to grab a bite on the way home. Assuming the International Road cooperated, they would be home before the food got cold. Having the details laid out in front of him grew Germany's enthusiasm for the idea. It would be great to have the three of them together again, even if the last time they were around each other was only yesterday. "_Ja_, I think we can."

"What do you say, Japan?" Italy asked.

Japan paused, considering. "I think I can do that. I will be over in a couple hours, but don't hurry back so quickly. I know my way around your house well enough."

A thought struck Germany. "When you get there, my stuff is already in the guest room. Just ignore it and unpack. I can keep my stuff in a storage closet or something and sleep on the couch."

"What? Don't be ridiculous, Germany, you can share a bed with me!" Italy protested.

Germany gaped. "No, I don't think that will be necessary."

"Why? We did it last night!" Italy asked, frowning.

Hearing a slight laugh, Germany glared over at Japan.

"I hate to trouble you," Japan added, looking at Germany in a way that could only be described as a challenge. "But I am much older and my hip has been giving me troubles. So I need a bed. And we're going to be doing much traveling and walking. You cannot afford to get uncomfortable on the couch. So that may be the only option."

Germany narrowed his eyes as he saw that Japan was visibly smiling, the bastard.

"Yeah, Germany! It would be really sad if the rest of us were having fun and you couldn't because you were uncomfortable!" Italy agreed.

Germany analyzed his options. Well, it wouldn't be all that bad if they shared a bed again, right? As Italy said, they did last night. It wasn't that big a deal. Besides, Germany knew that Japan's hip usually gave him troubles. And after all, Germany was just doing the kind thing. Japan needed the bed, and Italy enjoyed sharing a bed. He was just being selfless... right? He let out a long sigh. "Fine."

Japan's smile widened slightly. "Excellent. I will be over soon."

"Okay, see you soon, Japan! Bye!" Italy said.

"Goodbye." Japan replied.

Germany waved before shutting off his phone.

"This is wonderful! We can all go see Seborga together! I'll let him know!"

Germany held out his hand, a silent request for his phone.

Italy turned it over, pulling his out of his pocket. "You can take a seat if you want, this may take a while."

"How long does it take to schedule a visit?" Germany asked, setting an alarm for when they would have to start heading back to Italy's house.

"We're Italian."

"... fair point." Germany said. Italy replied with a laugh as he went to sit on a wooden bench. Germany pulled off his backpack, sticking his leg through one of the loops before setting it on the ground. He wasn't going to have his stuff stolen. He pulled a book out of his bag as he heard Italy chattering in rapid Italian and got set to reading. Or he tried to read. His eyes just scanned down the pages, his mind wandering again to his past. With all the history that was surrounding him... has he seen this all as Holy Rome? Is this really his third time in the ancient city? He didn't know how long it was before he felt a tap on his shoulder. Germany looked to his left, seeing Italy sitting there.

"What are you reading about?" He asked. "You seem to be reading really hard!"

Germany grunted. "It's a book on American history."

"You're reading a book about America?" Italy asked.

"Not about _him_, exactly." He said. "I wasn't alive for much of the time he was developing, so I wanted to make sure I wasn't missing anything."

"And you say you don't have a soft spot for him." Italy teased.

Germany shot him a deadpan look. "I don't."

"Why not just ask me about his history?" Italy asked as Germany bent over to grab his backpack. "I was there!"

Germany peered up at him doubtfully. "Okay, when was the Declaration of Independence written?"

Italy put his hand up to his chin, thinking as Germany stood and slung his backpack over his shoulders. "Umm... in in the 1760's...?"

"No. 1776." Germany replied, shaking his head.

Italy also stood. "Well I was only a decade off!"

"Sixteen years."

"Eh, if you're being particular about it." Italy said. "Now come on! We've been here for a whole half hour and we haven't even gone in the colloseum!"

Germany followed as Italy led him to the entrance of the colloseum.

After they used their I.D.s to get in, Germany was astounded at the crumbled building. It was crazy to think of just how much time had passed... just how long this had been here. How long ago this place was filled with hordes of people. They were on a viewing balcony with a metal guard rail.

Italy was leaning against it, surveying the arena with an unusually contemplative look on his face. His forearms were resting on the metal bar, his hands clasped in front of him. He was abnormally still.

Germany looked at him, musing that he never saw Italy like this very often. It was strange, but interesting to observe him being this calm. "What are you thinking about?"

Italy looked over his shoulder at him briefly before returning his gaze to the arena. "The last time I came here I was with Grandpa Rome. There was a show going on. It was a wild animal hunt. They brought in several lions. It just looks so different."

Germany also leaned on the bar, listening.

"There were so many people, Germany, you should have seen it. People packed elbow to elbow. The emperor's box draped in velvet. The roaring crowds, the suspense... it was such a great bonding moment between Grandpa and I." He looked at Germany. "But with this great beauty came a great wretchedness."

Germany drew his eyebrows together.

Italy looked back over the arena and unclasped his hands. "When I was a little older, I understood what a terrible place the colosseum really is. I understood that what started as a sport killing dangerous animals ended as the persecution of people. The same dirt that puddles of animal blood sat on soaked up the blood of people. Of human beings, baking into the earth under the sun. It's hard to look back on history, Germany. Whether you're human or not. But it's essential. You may regret your past." He looked at Germany, his eyes filled with a harsh understanding. "But knowing what happened, and regretting it as fiercely as we do... it keeps us from making those mistakes again. They helped make us into the people we are now. I feel like you need to remember that sometimes."

"... This is very sudden." Was all Germany could say.

Italy nodded and gazed around again. "I know. But everything that France said just got me thinking, and... it got me thinking about us. You, me, and Japan. But you especially. I see you thinking about it every now and then. I see you about to say things sometimes at world meetings... probably to reference your past. But then you hold your tongue. I just sometimes think that you need to let that go. It's not all your fault."

Germany held his gaze on the side profile of Italy for a moment longer, musing that perhaps Italy was more observant- and more wise – than Germany gave him credit for. His eyes wandered around the decrepit colosseum as he pondered on what Italy had said.


	9. Chapter 9: Coffee

Chapter 9: Coffee

They left the colosseum, Italy leading the way as he chattered. "Are you feeling hungry, Germany? I'm feeling hungry. I wonder where we should go! There's so many places we could go, too. And so much food to eat!"

Germany simply nodded, letting Italy continue.

"If you want somewhere nice, I know a great place to sit down. But we're not really dressed for nice places, are we? Let's try something new! Something unique! What do you say?"

Germany grunted. "Sounds good."

"Great! There's a place we can go – we'll have to drive, but still – It's only a few minutes' drive, and it's a park! There's lots of food vendors and stuff!"

"How much is a few minutes'?"

Italy hummed. "Around twenty, I think..."

Germany pulled out his phone and opened his map app. "Nineteen minutes." He clicked around for a moment later, looking up the various attractions they hoped to see.

"Excellent! That's a short drive, and then we can look at everything else we wanted to see!"

Germany hummed. "Excellent unless you consider the fact that everything we want to see is within ten minutes' walking distance." He slid his phone back in his pocket, facing Italy. "We may have to have a late lunch."

Italy perked up. "Oh, that's okay! I know a great little shop with delicious pastries! We could have a snack!"

"There's no need." Germany said, sliding his backpack off his shoulders and unzipping it. "I brought snacks so we could save money."

Italy slumped a little. "Really? But the food here is so good!"

"Oranges are good, too." Germany protested, pulling one out. "I also have protein bars, trail mix, baby carr-"

"Ugh!" Italy interrupted, tilting his head back. "I can't believe you packed protein bars!"

"They're practical!" Said Germany.

"But so boring!" Italy took the orange and set it back in the bag. "Why eat oranges when we could have _Pandoro! Canoli! _There's even a place that makes _Ricciarelli _year-round, Germany. _Ricciarelli! _I haven't had it since last Christmas, and it's right around the corner!"

"Christmas is next month. Can't you have one then?" Germany pointed out. Despite this, however, he zipped up his bag and slung it on his shoulders. "But if you _insist_-" The things Italy could convince him to do…

"Oh, I do! Thank you, Germany!" Italy sprung forward and wrapped Germay in a hug.

Germany stiffened. "_Ja_, but after this we're eating the food I brought."

Italy released Germany, still smiling as he took his hand and pulled him along. "That's fine, the _Ricciarelli _place is right up here!"

Germany resigned himself, jogging to keep up with Italy as they turned the corner.

Italy pointed at a brown and tan striped awning. "That one!" They stopped and entered the shop, the smell of delicious baked goods hitting them like a wall. Italy took a long, deep sniff. "Mm…"

The shop was small and cozy, with a two glass cases on either side of a bored-looking employee sitting behind a cash register. The lighting was slightly dim, and the rays from a few windows bathed the round tables and chairs in a warm, golden light. All in all, a cute pastry shop. Germany sniffed as well, relenting that Italy probably made the right decision in turning down his protein bars.

Italy flounced right up to the employee, Germany following. "_Posso per favore avere un Ricciarelli con un cappuccino_?"

The bored looking teenage boy nodded. "_Sì._" He looked expectantly up at Germany.

Germany glanced at Italy, unsure of what to say.

"Just try." Italy said. "I'll translate for you if you need."

"I know hardly any Italian." Germany protested quietly.

Italy shrugged. "Still Italian!"

"Uhh…" Germany straightened, beginning to speak in his heavily accented Italian. "_Per favore..._ what were those called again?"

"_Ricciarelli._"

"_Ricciarelli._" Germany finished, cringeing slightly as he botched the 'r's.

The boy nodded again, punching the price into the cash register. "_Qualcos'altro che vuoi?_"

"What did he say?" Germany muttered to Italy.

"He asked if there was anything else we wanted." Italy answered.

"Ask him for a plain, black coffee, please. I don't know how." Germany requested.

Italy smiled at him. "Sure!" He turned to the employee. "_Posso per favore avere un canoli, un zeppole, due baicoli, una torta caprese, e un caffè semplice?_"

Germany frowned, thinking that it was taking Italy an awfully long time to order a coffee. His suspicions were confirmed, however, as the price was rung up. "You didn't just order a coffee."

"Of course not!" Italy agreed, pulling euro out of his fanny pack. "The food here is incredible!"

Germany looked at the bills in Italy's hand. "Here, we can split the pay."

Italy grabbed Germany's hand as it started for his wallet. "No, no! You're a guest!" Before Germany could protest, Italy handed over the bills to the cashier.

Germany resolved to sneak the money to Italy later. "_Danke._"

Italy went and took a seat at the nearest table, sitting with his back to the sun. He hummed with satisfaction as it warmed his back.

Germany watched with a small smile, snapping out of it when the employee tapped him on the shoulder and offered him a small cup of black coffee. "_Danke. _Uh… _Grazie__._" He said, accepting it.

The employee nodded, turning to gather the assorted pastries as Germany joined Italy at the table.

After they'd eaten their way through far too many desserts, they were back on the streets. "What all did you want to see, Italy?" Germany asked.

"Hmm..." He stopped in the shade of a tree. "I wanted to see the Sistine Chapel, the Pantheon... I think that's it."

Germany pulled out his phone and tapped around for a moment, on a quest to find how far away they were. "We may want to find the car and drive there. It's quite a long walk."

Italy hummed. "That's okay, I would love to go on a drive!"

"As long as you don't plan on singing..." Germany agreed.

"What are you talking about? I have a lovely singing voice!" Italy protested, the pair walking alongside each other back to the car.

"Not when you're screaming along to the songs."

Italy laughed. "Well I have to agree to that." There was a slight pause as he appeared to be thinking. "You have a lovely singing voice too, Germany!"

"This again?" Germany frowned at him. "You've never even heard it!"

"Of course I have!" Italy argued, now swinging his arms as he walked. "Sometimes when you come over and you think I'm sleeping or too focused on my painting, you sing quietly to yourself! Most of your songs are in German, so I can't understand, but it's still pretty..."

Germany felt an intense blush rise on his cheeks. "If I had known you were listening..."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of!" Italy said, grinning. "There's nothing wrong with having a pretty singing voice! Like have you ever heard America's? Or France's?"

Germany raised an eyebrow. "How do you know this?"

"Well if _someone _didn't stay home from karaoke night every year, you would know it too! Even Prussia goes!"

Germany looked ahead, turning into the street where his car was parked. "What did he sing?"

"Well, last year was _Fergalicious_." Italy answered, chuckling.

Germany rolled his eyes. "_Mein Gott_. That must have been entertaining, though... when's the next karaoke night?"

"Umm... next month, first weekend, I think." Italy gasped, rounding the front of the car to his door. "Does that mean you're going?!"

"I'm not committing to anything yet. Possibly." Germany answered.

Italy buckled in. "You sound like Japan."

"I suppose I do, don't I?" Germany "Does he go?"

"No." Italy shook his head. "I mostly hang out with Romano and Spain. Sometimes Ms. Hungary."

Germany pulled out into the street, considering the proposition. "Hmm... is singing mandatory?"

"Of course not! It's very relaxed." Italy answered, plugging the AUX chord in his phone. "Any requests?"

Germany shook his head. "You can control the music."

The two drove in relative silence, enjoying the music and warm weather. Germany was about five minutes' driving time away from the pantheon when Italy gasped.

"Germany, stop!" He sounded harried. Panicked, even.

"What? Why?" Germany asked urgently, already pulling over to the side of the street.

"You have to pull over now! Quick! Please!"

Germany pulled into a clumsy parallel park, facing Italy. "What? What is it? Are you okay?"

Italy smiled and pointed across Germany. "Look!"

Germany followed his finger. "What?"

"That building! There's something really cool in there!"

"What could possibly be so important as to panic me into parking here?"

"A mask!"

"A mask?"

"It's a really cool mask!"

Germany blinked, processing what just happened. "You made me park so suddenly. You scared me while I was driving. You impeded our progress and ruined our schedule. You panicked me into thinking you were hurt or in danger for a _mask_?!"

"It's a magic mask, though!" Italy protested.

Germany's forehead fell to the steering wheel with a loud thunk. "Oh, a _magic _mask. Perfect. Well that fixes everything." He looked over to Italy, still hunching his shoulders. "And I assume I need to see this mask right now?"

"You're mad at me." Italy said, his excitement fading.

"Very astute observation." Germany replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just don't do that to me while I'm driving. Okay?"

"Okay. Sorry, Germany."

Germany sighed, straightening and pushing himself against his seat. "It's okay... do you really want to see this mask?"

"Yes please!"

Germany unbuckled. "Fine. But only for a little."

"Yay! Thank you, Germany!" Hardly a second had passed before he had risen out of his seat and waiting outside of the car.

Germany left the car, waiting for the traffic to clear before crossing the street. "What's so special about this mask, anyway?"

"Well, it's magic."

"I remember." Germany stepped onto the opposite sidewalk. "I mean what's the magic?"

Italy hummed as they started toward the building. "There is an old legend."

"There's an old legend with everything in Italy." Germany observed, looking around. "You couldn't throw a rock around here without it landing on something with an intense history."

"Not here in Rome." Italy agreed, laughing. "But this one is interesting!" They turned into the building.

"Well, while we're walking to this mask, tell me this legend."

"Ooh! Good idea!" Italy quipped. "Well, back a long, long time ago... no one knows exactly when... there was a woman who was unfaithful to her husband. When he found out, he called a crowd of people and took his wife over here to see a mask."

"A crowd of people?" Germany asked as they walked through the twisting hallways. "To witness their private business?"

Italy nodded.

"Sounds like a decent fellow."

"Right? So anyway, they were sitting in front of this mask. It was gigantic! A river god with an open mouth. Everyone knew what made this mask so special. If a liar stuck their hand in its mouth, it would bite it clean off!"

"Oh, so the woman stuck her hand in the mask's mouth, then it got bitten off, then she was shunned for her crimes." Germany finished, fully confident that he had figured out the rest of the story.

Italy frowned, mouth agape. "What?! No, that's so grim! What happened was that the woman had a plan. She knew this would happen! Her lover came and kissed her in front of everybody, she pretended to be shocked, and he ran right off. When she was finally asked the question if she cheated, she answered: "The only men I have ever kissed was my husband, and that bastard that kissed me now."

Germany smirked. "And that's a direct quote?"

"Not exactly." Italy admitted sheepishly. "But anyway, then the lover was hunted down and brutally killed. And that's the end of the story!"

"And _my _version was grim?" Germany asked.

Italy stopped, and so did he. They were standing in a short line of about ten people, leading to a stone mask slightly taller than Italy carved into the wall.

"That's a mask?" Germany asked.

Italy shrugged. "I suppose so,"

They waited patiently in line, the two of them watching a group of teenagers as they took turns asking each other questions in Italian. Italy giggled at a couple of them, not bothering to translate them. Not that Germany minded.

When it was finally their turn, Italy pushed Germany forward, holding his phone up. "Okay, you go first!"

Germany looked back, noting that there was no line. Good. He wasn't sure he wanted them to hear whatever Italy had to say. "Okay..." He stuck his hand in the mask, not letting his hand touch the stone.

"Okay. Do you have a soft spot for America?" Italy asked, giggling.

"No." Germany answered.

Italy paused. "... huh. No hand-biting, I guess you're right!"

"Of course I am."

"Okay, okay, a couple more! Umm... Do you have a diary?"

"No." Germany lied, a slight blush dusting the tips of his ears.

Italy raised an eyebrow. "I don't need a stone mask to tell that you're lying, Germany."

Germany sighed. "Okay, yes! It's a habit I picked up from Prussia. Happy?"

Italy laughed. "Your reaction is funnier than the answer!"

"Are we done now?"

"No, no, one last question." Italy lowered his camera as his smile fell. "Are you... mad that I didn't tell you about Holy Rome before?"

Germany blinked. He had almost forgotton about it until Italy mentioned it. "Of course not." Germany said, surprised at the softness of his own voice. "I never was."

Italy gave him a small smile, which Germany returned. They sat there for a moment, smiling at each other before Italy lifted his phone again. "Okay, those are all my questions!"

Germany raised an eyebrow, recognizing that Italy was trying to act that the moment hadn't even happened. "Finally." He replied in a teasing tone. The two passed each other as Italy went over to the stone statue. Before he could think of what he was doing, he wrapped his arms around Italy in a hug. He didn't know why. If anyone asked him, he would say he was rather uncomprehending of emotion and reading the atmosphere. He wasn't the first person you would go to for reassurance of any kind. And yet... he knew that this was the best thing to do for Italy at that moment.

Italy appeared to be frozen for a moment, shocked by this sudden display of affection. He quickly recovered, however, his hands desperately gripping the back of Germany's T-shirt as he buried his head in his collarbone.

They stood like that for a couple more seconds before Germany released his friend. "Okay, you can't put it off any longer. Get your hand in that statue."

Italy stepped back and looked up at Germany, his lips pulling into a close-mouthed smile of thanks.

Germany found himself returning it as Italy stepped forward and stuck his hand in the mask, an arm's length away from Germany as he waited. At the last minute, he remembered to start his phone's video and turned it to Germany.

"Okay!"

Germany smiled to himself as he was struck with a genius idea. "Do you really think that fanny pack isn't ugly?"

Still looking at Germany, Italy smiled. "Nope!"

"No," Germany shook his head. "You need to look the mask in the eyes and answer. Most evidence of dishonesty is in the eyes."

Italy raised an eyebrow, lowering his camera. "Really?"

"Yes." Germany lied. "Look at the statue."

Italy shrugged. "If it's that important to you." He raised the phone again, this time directed at the statue.

"Do you think your fanny pack is ugly?" As Germany talked, he took a silent half-step forward and raised his arms to Italy's height.

"No." Italy answered somewhat solemnly.

In the moment of silence that proceeded afterword, Germany brought his arms down onto Italy's shoulders. "Ah!"

Italy yelped and nearly jumped out of his skin, dropping his phone and fumbling around with it before barely catching it. "Germany!" he barked. "You scared me half to death!"

But Germany wasn't listening. He was too busy laughing. Full-bellied, gut-wrenching laughter. God, that was excellent! Even better than he had hoped!

Italy soon joined in, laughing along with him.

Germany straightened as he laughed, putting his palm to his forehead. After a couple more chuckles, the laughter subsided. Then, just as he remembered the little scream Italy did, it came back. "Oh, that noise you made." He said after he had relaxed a little.

"That was a cheap trick, Germany!" Italy said.

"Perhaps." Germany conceded, still smiling. "But it was impossible to resist. You just scare so easily."

"Okay, okay." Italy relented. "That's fair, I guess."

"Thank you for your approval." Germany teased. "Come on. If we want to be home with food for Japan, we have to see the Pantheon."

"The Pantheon!" Italy skipped ahead. "I love it there! Oh, Germany, it's so pretty!"

Germany followed Italy out to the car, listening to Italy's ramblings about the pantheon and how lovely it is, how the columns are all so large, how it's so clean, how it looks so beautiful on a sunny day, and how lucky are we that it's such a lovely day, Germany? By the time they finally made it out to the car, it was a little after two in the afternoon. Germany realized this as he turned on the car and looked at the car radio, cringeing. "We're cutting it close for sure."

Italy grimaced. "Ooh."

As they pulled out, Germany hummed. "We may only have time for one thing: Pantheon, or Sistine Chapel?"

"Pantheon." Italy answered. "No hesitation!"

They were driving to the pantheon, Italy humming along to the music as they drove the last ten minutes of the drive. As they passed the buildings, Germany hazarded quick glances out the window. It was so beautiful here, even in the city. Rome was a collision of all that was old, and all that was new. It was beautiful in a way that transcended history. Germany peered over at Italy, who was tapping his finger on the left armrest, his honey gold eyes half-closed and observing their surroundings.

As he faced frontward again, he realized that he was smiling to himself. He wondered what Italy was thinking. His mind flashed back to the giant mask. When his hand was inside and Italy asked if Germany was mad at him for not telling him about Holy Rome. He remembered Italy's look of vulnerability and nervousness. Germany was brought back to the present, wondering how long Italy had been sitting on that question. If he still had doubts. Furrowing his brows, Germany resolved to be a little more open. To perhaps be nicer to Italy. Maybe let him know through his actions that all was forgiven. That he was never mad in the first place. The GPS shocked him out of his thoughts, announcing their arrival.

"We're here, we're here!" Italy cheered, sitting forward in his seat.

"Wait, we have to find parking first." Germany said.

Italy groaned. "We always do!" he gasped. "Germany! Maybe we could take bikes next time!"

For just a moment, Germany's heart accelerated. Did that count as an invitation to do this again? For them to take another vacation together? "You would enjoy perhaps the first ten minutes. Then you would complain that we should have brought a car."

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Italy laughed. "You know me too well, Germany."

Germany spotted an empty spot on the side of the road and effortlessly slid into it. "_Ja. _It's almost like we've been friends for 80 years." He unbuckled.

Italy's eyes widened as he too unbuckled. "Only 80 years? That's so short!"

Germany opened the door, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders. He pulled the sunglasses off his face, noticing that the sun wasn't as bright in the late afternoon. "I forget that 80 years is short to many nations..."

"Yes, you're so young!" Italy laughed, waiting on the sidewalk. "You're practically a _bambino_!"

Germany glared as he rounded the car. "And yet here I am, taking care of you."

"And you do such a good job of it!" Italy laughed, latching onto Germany's arm. "I'm glad you took those sunglasses off, you don't look as scary now."

The two started walking, enjoying the sights and weather. Germany observed that the buildings here were more crowded together. There were less shops and more apartments. The buildings were brightly colored, painted in oranges, tans, and the occasional pale pastel blue.

"Germany, Germany!" Italy said suddenly, sounding extremely excited.

Germany looked over, raising an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"You've been my friend for over half your life!"

Germany looked ahead, taken aback. He'd never though of it like that. "I... suppose so."

"Yeah! You were in your 60's when you found me!"

"_Mein Gott. _It's hard to believe."

"Right?! It feels like so long ago!"

They lapsed into quiet again, Germany frowning. "Italy, I can't believe I've never asked this, but... how old are you, exactly?"

"Hmm..." Italy brought a hand to his chin. "Well... I don't remember exactly which year I was born, but... I remember it was around 700 B.C."

Germany stopped outright. "Wait, what?"

Italy rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Yeah, I'm a bit of an old geezer, aren't I?"

"'Old Geezer'? You're around 2,600 years old!" Germany exclaimed.

Italy pulled him along. "Yes, I suppose so. Time is really weird, huh?"

"You could be my grandfather!" Germany continued.

Italy frowned. "Okay, okay, that's enough." He smiled. "I'm old, but I'm not _ancient_!"

Germany shook his head, dumbfounded. "You made America look like a toddler."

"And you look like a baby! You understand, now?"

"I wish I didn't, but _ja_."

They turned the corner, and there was the pantheon. It rested in the middle of what looked like a ginat cul-de-sak of grey brick road, surrounded by modern apartment buildings in assorted pastel colors. There was a small crowd milling about the area, but it was relatively empty. Perced in front of the Pantheon, a fish squirting water out of its mouth. The pantheon was a large, rectangular building with a triangular roof, the front supported by large stone columns. On the front was some Latin that Germany was unable to understand. Bathed in the golden sun, it was almost as if they had travelled back in time and was standing in front of a new pantheon. Given how well it had stayed together over the years, it was easy to slip into that frame of mind.

Leaping with excitement, Italy pulled Germany forward in a jog. "Come on!"


	10. Chapter 10: Mario Kart

Chapter 10: Mario Kart

They jogged up to the Pantheon, Germany slowing as he came closer to the majestic front.

"What does that say?" He asked.

Italy followed his gaze. "Hmm? Oh! It says: 'Marcus Agrippa, son of Lucius, Consul for the first time built this'. It's not true, though."

"Why do you say that?" The two climbed the steps side-by-side.

"Well, the very first temple to the Gods was burned a while before this pantheon. The builder of _that _temple died a long time ago. So when this one was built, the text from the original pantheon was put on this one to honor Marcus Agrippa."

They passed through the giant bronze gates, Germany musing that the attraction was a feat of remarkable architecture. The air inside the building was slightly cooler than that of the air outside. Not air conditioned, of course, but a combination of the cool stone walls, tiled floor, and shade from the sun made the room relaxing to step into. Germany was glad for the shade. He could already feel his pasty skin turning pink from the hot sun.

His thoughts were whisked away from him when the short hallway opened up to the giant domed room. The room was impossibly large and impossibly empty. Larger even than he had originally anticipated. Everything in the room was beautiful. The floor was pure marble, the different colors cut into perfect squares and inlaid in the ground, the shades of the marble shocking against the white tiles. Around them were columns holding up the doorways and a long, golden ridge that encircled the room. Above the golden ridge were squares. Ones of tan were dispersed between cubes cut into the wall, framed by detailed scrolling marble. Another golden ridge above was framing them.

The entire space was too much to process, Germany's eyes darting to search for a new detail as soon as he was able to spot one. His attention was soon focused on the dome, however. Squares were cut into the dome, bending with the curvature of the roof as it rose up, encasing the room in an almost dizzying array of detail. Entirely unsupported. Germany hadn't even realized he had walked to the middle of the room until he found himself bathed in the golden light shining from the hold in the top of the ceiling. He looked up briefly before returning his gaze to the wall, circling as he took in the details. His mouth agape, it split into a smile as he marvelled at the beauty of the building. An entirely unsupported dome this big... an architectural marvel back then, but no less of one in present time. As he finished his circle, he found it within himself to speak.

"Italy... this is..." He stopped as his eyes stopped on Italy.

Italy was staring at him, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes filled with some unnameable emotion.

Germany was entranced by Italy's gaze, astounded by the intensity behind it. His thoughts quietened as he returned it.

Slowly, Italy stepped forward. It seemed like there was an eternity between the time Italy left his spot, and the time it took for him to near Germany. But the entire time, they held their gaze. Anything could have happened in that span of time. Someone could have entered the room. Someone could shout. The building could collapse around them. But their focuses were entirely on each other. Alone, in an empty piece of history. Italy was about two feet in front of him now, his gait slowing as he was two feet away. He finally stopped as they were toe to toe. Germany's heart was set alight as he felt Italy's graceful, slim fingers graze his arm and slip slowly down. Automatically, Germany's other arm encircled Italy's waist. The both of them leaned in. Germany felt Italy's fingers close on his wrist. He turned his head. Italy was so close. Their eyes were almost closed-

A blaring siron echoed around the atrium, the domed ceiling amplifying the sound.

Startled, the two leapt apart.

Germany's mind reeled. Was that a hurricane warning or something? Perhaps a storm? A fire engine? Then, his heart stopped as he remembered setting that alarm earlier that afternoon after the colosseum. "_Scheiße_." He muttered, pulling his phone out of his pocket and silencing the alert. He stared down at his phone a moment longer before he raised his phone screen to Italy, looking at the floor. He could feel his face, neck, and ears heat up with what was likely an intense blush. He refused to make eye contact out of embarassment. What just happened? "We- we should head back to the car."

Germany heard the echo of voices as a group of people entered the Pantheon. A group of people who had no idea what had just transpired. Who couldn't feel the tense air of... whatever was in this room. Not waiting for an answer from Italy, he brushed past him and left the building. He had to get out of there. He needed- he needed a moment to collect himself. He needed to walk back to the car and drive with the windows down. Let the rushing of the wind silence the thoughts in his head. Or perhaps encourage them. He didn't know. He couldn't think. By the time he was down the steps, he felt Italy's presence next to him.

The walk back to the car didn't have amiable chatter, like many that day had. There wasn't even that comfortable silence that people often had when walking next to each other. All there was was empty silence. A question of: _what the hell just happened? _Hanging on both of their tongues but refusing to come out. The walk led to the car, which led to driving back down the very streets they had driven on to get into the city. The windows were down, but Italy hadn't been bold enough to plug the AUX chord in his phone, so Germany just turned on the radio. The songs were dispersed with radio ads he couldn't understand.

In his periphary, Germany saw Italy's tan hand dial back the volume on the radio. For a moment, he was concerned that Italy would try and talk about... whatever had taken place. Germany's thoughts hadn't even began to sort themselves out enough for him to understand, let alone discuss.

"There's a place up here where we can get food for Japan." Italy said, his voice unusually level.

Germany couldn't bring himself to look at Italy still. "The one with the tables over there?" There was a pause in which Germany was sure Italy nodded.

"Yes. The one with the green umbrellas."

Germany slid into a parking spot. "Why don't you go in and get the food, and I'll wait out here in the car?" There was a period of silence when Germany was certain Italy was going to protest.

"Okay. I'll be out soon, Germany."

Germany nodded. He heard the car door open then close. He waited a moment during which he was sure Italy had disappeared in the restaraunt. With a pathetic grunt, he let his forehead fall against the steering wheel. The horn blared, but that didn't stop him from letting his head hit the horn once, twice, three times. He sat up again. If only he hadn't set that damned alarm... What would have happened then, though? They would have kissed, probably. But then what? Would they be in a relationship, or would Italy say that it was a mistake, or- or maybe he was trying to see if kissing him would spark memories of Holy Rome. He shook his head. No... Italy could never be that cruel. Not after all he did to protect Germany from his past. _Fine, then. _His subconscious jeered. _He probably thinks it was a mistake. _His glare loosened into a worried frown. Was it? Because Germany knew he hadn't gone into it with anything other than pure affection. But what could be said of Italy? He could often get swept away in his emotions and desires. Maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. Maybe-

The door opening startled him out of his reverie. He stared forward as Italy ducked into the car, setting the bags of fragrant food in the backseat.

Germany pulled into the street as Italy buckled his seatbelt. He didn't think he could stand any more silence. "Do you want to turn on some music?" He asked.

Italy looked over, unabashedly studying him. "Do you want to choose?"

Germany shook his head. "No."

Silence prevailed as Germany rolled up the windows and Italy scrolled through his music. Perhaps it started, perhaps it didn't. Germany was unaware of anything except his thoughts, and the road ahead of him. Prussia said before that Germany could draw himself within his own mind, focusing all his attention on solving problems or getting work done. Or, in this case, sorting his emotions out. It seemed like an eternity had passed by the time they pulled into Italy's driveway. Japan's sleep silver car was already sitting there.

"I wonder how long he's been here." Italy said.

Germany grunted.

"Maybe he won't even be hungry..."

Germany pulled into a park. "I can help you carry those in."

"Okay."

Germany continued to avoid eye contact as he reached in the back and grabbed all the bags. He continued to avoid Italy's surprised look as he noticed there were no bags left for him to carry. He especially refused to notice how close the two were to each other as they climbed the steps up to his house. The door was unlocked, so Italy opened the door for Germany. He brushed past Italy, thumping through the hallway in his boots and setting the groceries on the counter. "Japan?" He called. He heard stirring on the couch and looked over to see Japan sit up.

Japan peered over the back of the couch at Germany. "Oh, Germany. Hello. Sorry I didn't greet you, I seem to have fallen asleep on the sofa."

"Hi, Japan!" Italy greeted. To anyone who didn't know him as well as Germany and Japan did, they would say that Italy was his usual peppy self. But Germany and Japan knew Italy, and they knew that something was wrong. The only difference was that Germany knew the reason why.

Though Japan had a concerned frown on his face momentarily, he wiped it off to bow to Italy. "Hello, Italy."

Italy returned the bow, smiling. "What time did you get here?"

"I got here a few hours after our video chat."

"Oh, good! So you haven't been here long! Are you hungry?"

Japan nodded. "After my nap, I am."

"Great! We brought back lots of good food!"

The three of them sat down at the table after Germany quickly set the table, passing the takeout containers between the three of them. Germany noticed the distinctly stiff, awkward atmosphere at the table. He tried to think of something to say.

"This is good." _Really? 'This is good'? _

Italy nodded. "It's from one of my favorite restaraunts."

Silence prevailed again.

Japan glanced between them through his glasses, obviously trying to discern what was going on. Eventually, he appeared to have decided to try and get more clues. "So, where did you go today?"

"Well we went to the colosseum, as you could see!" Italy said, brightening slightly. "Afterword, I was _super _hungry! But I didn't want any of Germany's disgusting protein bars."

"They're not disgusting, they're healthy." Germany protested, looking at Italy for the first time that evening. It was a short, quick glance. But it was eye contact nonetheless.

Italy shrugged with manufactured ease. "There's no difference, really."

"Because Italy's so picky, we went to a nearby cafe. He ordered six desserts. Seven, if you count mine."

Japan nodded, seemingly unsurprised. "He did that when the two of us went on vacation, too. And he refused to let you pay?"

"Of course."

Italy leaned against his hand. "But weren't they delicious?"

Germany returned his gaze. "_Ja, _they were."

Italy straightened. "See? It was worth it!"

Germany smiled. For a moment, everything almost seemed normal.

The food on their plates slowly disappeared as Japan heard about the rest of their day. By the time they were done, everyone was equally stuffed. Germany could have gone for a nap. Far too much happened today. Far too many emotions and serious talks. What was up with those these past couple days? Hardly an hour could pass without some sappy heartfelt moment.

Italy, however, looked as energetic as ever. "Do you guys want to play a video game?"

Germany's immediate answer was a 'no', but Japan straightened up slightly.

"That sounds fun," was his only answer.

"Great! I have a Wii!" Italy said, clamoring out of his seat and scampering to the living room.

"You go join him. I'll clean up from dinner." Germany offered.

Japan raised an eyebrow. "You want to avoid video games that much?"

Germany nodded. "Are you surprised?"

"Not at all." Japan answered with a slight smile. "Thank you, Germany."

Germany nodded, standing and collecting plates.

Japan left his seat, taking a couple steps toward the living room before doing a half-turn. "Oh, and Germany?"

"Hmm?" Germany looked up.

"Can we talk later?"

"... Okay."

Japan nodded and left.

Germany furrowed his brow. He wondered how much they were going to talk about. Whether it would be about Holy Rome or him and Italy... perhaps both. Either way, both options teriffied him. He finished cleaning, his head occupied with so many thoughts that he felt like he would burst. He was about to start washing the dishes when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Quizzically, he pulled it out of his pocket. A text from his brother. Prussia never texted. He always preferred to call. He opened the text, frowning as he read.

_Have you seen Italy's latest Instagram post_

Germany was about to reply 'no' when another text came through.

_Cause... youll see i guess_

Before Germany could even decipher what that meant, he got a notification from Instagram. News that Italy had tagged him in a post. Fearing the worst, he opened the notification.

He could see that it was a series of photos, the first being an aesthetic shot down an Italian street filled with buildings of multiple colors. He swiped to the next photos, seeing a few of pretty flowers they had passed on the street. The next was of their table at the cafe, laden with delicious and pretty-looking desserts. Germany stopped as he saw a side profile photo of him from when he was reading on the bench. He blushed slightly as he saw this, but was otherwise unbothered. It was just a photo. What followed was a photo of the great stone mask with Italy's hand inside. Germany smiled to himself as he remembered how he scared Italy. His smile was wiped off his face, however, as he was confronted with a photo of himself.

To clarify, it was a photo of him... laughing. The photo was taken as Germany was straightening up, his shoulders raised slightly with his laughter. The heat had caused a couple strands of hair to come unstuck from the gel, hanging down from his hairline. His mouth was split open mid-laugh, and his eyes were shut. So that's why he hadn't noticed Italy taking a photo. He stared at himself quizzically. So this was what he looked like laughing. Ugh. His face blotched red as he remembered it was on Instagram. The photo was on Instagram! Germany scrolled up to the top to see how many followers Italy had. He shook his head as the panic mounted. Italy had consistently been one of the top Instagrammers for months now, his profile filled with aesthetic pictures and photos of food. Most of his followers were there, though, for the occasional photo he posted when he was dressed in a nice outfit.

Frantically, Germany scrolled back down to the photos. He blanched at the amount of likes. There were thousands... He looked down at the photo's description: _When in Rome... _Seeing the top comments, he knew it was already too late to have Italy delete the photos. A strange requirement of nations was that they had to follow each others' social media pages and have notifications on for them. Their bosses figured it was a good way not only to connect with their people, but to connect with each other and encourage deplomacy. And he saw that the other nations' comments and likes were already there.

_Official_USA: Whoa, dude! It's good to see you guys having a good time!_

_Hungary'sInstagram: You have a lovely smile, Germany! _

Under Hungary's comment, there was a long thread of 69 comments, talking about various things from how nice Germany's smile was, to how he looked less scary when he was laughing, to a couple... weird ones. Germany cringed and shook his head. It struck him dumb that there were fangirls who were attracted to goddamn countries.

_Prussias_Not_Ded: Have a fun time broha_

The rest of the comments were from Italy's followers, talking about how lovely the photos were, complaining that there weren't any photos of Italy there, the regular sort of mixture. Germany turned off his phone, sliding it back in his pocket. "Italy!" He barked.

"Uh-oh." Japan muttered from the couch. "I told you he would be mad."

Italy half-turned, his picture the face of innocence. "Yes, Germany?"

"Why did you upload that picture?!"

Italy rubbed the back of his head. "Well, I suppose food pictures are cliche, but the cafe had nice lighting and-"

"You know what photo I'm talking about, Italy! The one where I was laughing!"

"Oh, that!" Italy acted as if he just realized.

Japan sent Italy a level look, clearly not taking any of his shit.

Germany raised an eyebrow of exasperation, waiting for whatever half-baked excuse Italy had.

"I thought you looked nice in it!"

Okay, Germany wasn't expecting complete honesty.

"I can take it down if you want, though."

Germany sighed, brushing a hand over his slicked-back hair. "The damage is already done. It would just be embarassing if you took it down now."

"Good! It's a pretty picture." Italy said.

Much to his dismay, Germany could feel his damned blush coming back. If he had a _deutschmark _for every time he had blushed these past couple days... he couldn't imagine how many cats he could get from Arby's.

"Anyway, people think you're scary sometimes!" Italy forged on, apparently not noticing. "I did too when I first met you, you know!"

Japan nodded in agreement. "That is part of Germany's reputation. You must remember, Germany. We have to be approachable, but respectable. To promote tourism and goodwill between nations. And you haven't posted on your social media for weeks!"

Germany frowned, rounding the couch and sitting down. "I don't feel the need to post. Surely people aren't that interested in what I'm doing."

Japan shook his head, pulling out his phone. "That isn't exactly true, Germany." He scrolled down, his glasses reflecting the photos passing on his screen. "You have ninety million followers, after all."

Germany gave a half-shrug. "I just don't understand it. What I do isn't anyone else's business."

"But Germany, your people want to hear from you!" Italy protested. "Besides, your boss is going to get angry at you if you keep this up!"

"All you post is photos of your dogs." Japan added.

"Photos of dogs have merit!" Germany protested, craning his neck to see Japan's phone. "Blackie is extremely photogenic."

Italy peered up at Germany through half-lidded eyes. "Ah, but your followers want to see more of _you_!" He let a short laugh escape. "Especially the girls..."

"Can we end this conversation yet?" Germany grumbled.

Italy chuckled. "Aww, I'm just teasing, Germany!" He wrapped an arm around Germany and Japan, both of them making noises of protest. "We're all friends here!"

"Reluctantly so." Germany responded, feeling as if Italy's touch was burning against his skin.

Italy released them, snatching a wii steering wheel off of the coffee table. "So, are you guys ready to lose?"

"I regret to inform you that Mario Kart is my best game." Japan said, grabbing his steering wheel off the table as well.

"Italy," Germany leaned forward here and collected his. "You can't even drive a bumper car correctly. You enganger yourself and others when driving a real car. Forgive me if I don't believe you."

Italy started the game. They all went through setup, choosing their cars and characters. Italy went with Mario, Japan selected Toad, and Germany chose Dry Bowser. All three of them decided on bikes. Germany chose for handling, Japan for speed, and Italy chose the sugar scoot because he liked the name.

The three raced through the desert, the room surprisingly quiet as they concentrated on their driving. Through the entire race, they were neck and neck, all three of them vying to make it through narrow doorways. The final lap. The paramount of the action. The epitome of hard work and stress. They had made it through the entire race beside each other, each trying desperately and failing to get the upper hand. They were within a hundred virtual feet of the finish line , neck and neck. All three of their eyes widened as sirens sounded, the icons at the bottom of the screen alerting them that a blue shell was hurtling toward them. Almost in complete synchrony, Germany and Italy fell back until they were barely off the perimiter of the explosion. Japan wasn't so lucky.

"No. No no no no _no no no no_..." His voice steadily grew in volume as it approached, reaching its apex as Toad exploded. "_FUCKING GOD._" Japan shouted at the top of his voice as Italy and Germany passed the finish line. "_SON OF A BITCH!_"

As the game's cheery tune started, Germany and Italy looked at each other in shock before peering over at their friend.

Japan's hands had flown to his mouth, his eyes flared wide open as he realized what he said.

Germany doubled over in laughter. He could hear Italy's high-pitched giggles beside him, fueling the mirth he felt. The two were engaged in barking, full-bellied laughter. Every time Germany thought he was done laughing, he heard the mental echo of Japan's usually serene voice cussing like a sailor and he was washed anew with laughter. By the time Germany could straighten up with a sigh, he looked over and noticed Italy had tears in his eyes. Looking across Italy, Germany could see Japan studying them with an embarassed blush across his face, and a regretful smile. "What is it?" Germany asked with a slight chuckle.

"I.. apologize, my anger ran away with me." Japan apologized.

Germany snorted, his laughter starting all over again. Italy joined in, before Japan finally giggled along with them.


	11. Chapter 11: Japan's Confession

Chapter 11: Japan's Confession

They played for another hour before Japan yawned.

Noticing, Italy paused the game. "Uh-oh, someone's tired!"

"Please, don't let me interrupt the game." Japan protested.

Italy shook his head. "Nope! We have a day of fun tomorrow! Seborga said we were going to go to the beach, so we need plenty of sleep." He stood from his seat, stretching.

Germany tried not to notice that the hem of Italy's T-shirt rose above his midriff. He failed drastically.

"I'll go change the sheets in the guest room." Italy offered.

Japan nodded. "Thank you, Italy."

Italy hummed as he retreated into the hallway, leaving Germany and Japan alone. Silence permeated the room, tense with expectation and worry at the prospect of Japan's conversation. Germany wasn't sure if it was just him that felt it or not.

"So. You wanted to talk." Germany said finally, figuring he should get it over with.

Japan nodded again. "Yes."

"I can't believe I didn't realize you knew about Holy Rome." Germany said.

Japan looked over at him, his expression almost nervous. "I know."

"How did you?" Germany met his gaze, those supressed feelings of confusion emerging again.

Japan pulled the zipper of his tracksuit to his throat, letting out a sigh as he did so. "I... when I shut myself at my house in the 1600's, Netherlands and I grew quite close. You could say he was one of my first friends, even if it was more of a business partnership than anything else. Though we don't do business anymore, we still talk occasionally. He was the one that told me Holy Rome fell, which was interesting. He seemed to be invincible before he fell. This was when I started having the ambition to be the most powerful country in the world, even if I didn't try to act on it until World War Two."

Germany frowned, recalling the desperate fear he felt for Japan from his cell at the Allies' headquarters toward the end of the war. Why hadn't Japan just surrendered? It was over. There was no hope. And yet it was a perfect peek into Japan's character that he had been missing. In his ability to read the atmosphere around him and make peace, Germany had missed the cold fury. The fierce warrior. The intense ambition and persistance that he had somehow missed in his ally and friend. That single action was the most vulnerable peek into Japan Germany had at the time. Japan started talking again, shocking Germany back into the moment.

"Netherlands knew I was interested in this, so when he told me there was an update on the Holy Rome situation all those years later, I could not resist. I knew I should have minded my own business, but I had to know it anyway." Japan's voice had a tinge of bitterness. "So I set out some tea and he told me. As he was nearly right in the middle of the action, he knew intimate details. Details that I probably had no right to know." Japan sat back, for once looking like his age. "I had already known about the details of your death with France... but for the right price, Netherlands was willing to tell me everything. So, I gave it to him. It was a trifle at the time, just money. Money really doesn't seem to matter when you're a country. It's fleeting. Temporary. But secrets? Secrets last forever." Japan shook his head with self-hatred. "_Your _secrets... last forever."

"Japan-"

"Please." Japan held up his hand, his usually calm face marred with an expression Germany had never seen before. Something almost broken. A reopened wound. "I- I just... I have to tell you. I've held onto it for centuries."

Germany paused before nodding once.

"So, when I had this new ammunition, this new inside information, I was delighted in what I found. Holy Rome reborn as Germany? This was very interesting indeed... perhaps it was possible for a country to return if it got powerful enough. Perhaps it was a chance for me to take more risk and come back unscathed. But you had no memories of your previous life, so it was no longer an option for me... but then I got something even better. Prussia was raising you. If I could kidnap you, then I would have something against Prussia. He would surrender. That would be more land and more power." Japan bowed his head to his lap.

Germany frowned. He found it difficult that Japan could have once had thoughts that were so... cruel.

"And better yet, I found out that Holy Rome and Italy were in a relationship of some kind. Though it was never specified, there were mutual feelings between the two of them. So, if Italy saw you and put the clues together, he would realize his first love was alive still. Even before Netherlands had finished speaking, I had formulated a plan. I would kidnap you from Prussia. I would threaten him with your life unless he surrendered. Then, I would take Prussia's land as my own and kill him."

Germany's mouth was agape. For a moment, he imagined his brother bloodied and lying on the floor, a wound flowing in his chest as Japan stood over him, a white fist clenching the handle of a katana.

"After I conquered Prussia, I would tell Italy about you and who you once were. I would present the proof. And I would do the same. I would _kill _Italy, and then when all was done, I would kill you too." Japan's fists clenched the fabric of his track bottoms. His voice warbled dangerously as he continued. "And I would have three countries as my own. More land. More _damned power._" Japan looked up at Germany.

Germany's frown disappeared as he noticed Japan's eyes brimming with tears. This had to have been the first time he's seen his friend cry.

Japan took a shaky breath. "But you grew so powerful so quickly. And I couldn't do it. I wasn't strong enough. If you hadn't managed to grow that fast... who knows what I would have done? But I signed a pact with you and Italy. Because you were both powerful. It was originally a tactical solution. But then you and Italy showed me kindness and friendship. Compassion. You two became my best friends. And every single day I think about how grateful I am that Prussia did such a good job raising you. Because if he hadn't... I would have killed my family." Japan let out a single, choked sob. Almost like it was an indulgence to show emotion in this heartbroken moment.

Germany scooted closer to his friend and rested his hand on his shoulder, unsure of what to say. "Japan, I- I'm so sorry."

Japan shook his head and drew away from the contact. "Don't be. Why would you be sorry? I almost killed you. I almost killed you and Italy... I have hurt so many people, Germany. Even during World War Two when I thought I had learned of having a family, I was the last one to surrender. I don't- I don't deserve your pity."

Germany's mind flashed back to his and Japan's conversation in the kitchen about France. It seemed like so long ago.

"_He killed a child!" Germany yelled._

"_And how many have we killed, Germany? How many _people_ have we killed for the sake of power?"_

"_Don't ask that." Germany begged._

"_I wouldn't say it if it were not true." Japan said, looking like he dreaded the answer as much as Germany. "We both have killed so many people…"_

Looking back, there was so much unnoticed meaning behind that conversation. If only Germany had been paying attention... the sound of Japan's voice through the argument. Heavy with regret. With a burning self-hatred that only a country could know.

"You said it yourself." Germany reminded Japan. "After our argument about France... you said we make mistakes. Does that make us bad?"

"But this wasn't a mistake." Japan protested. "It was all intentional. A lust for power and I let it consume me."

Germany looked down at the carpet. "How many people have you killed since then? By choice, I mean. Not when your boss forced you to."

Japan opened his eyes, still staring ahead. "None."

"How many times have you been there for the other countries when they needed your help?"

"I... don't know."

Germany nodded, looking straight at him. "Because there have been so many times that you've helped them. How often do you go to America's to help him with whatever stupid projects or horror movie screenings he had going on?"

Japan's hands loosened their grip. "Many times."

"And how much time did it take you to decide to leave your presentation to help Italy?"

Japan paused in thought.

"Seconds. Not even a minute. And I bet that the moment something went wrong and you figured out Italy would have to go home, you had a plan when the rest of us were too shocked to do anything. This was after _months _of preperation and practice."

Japan shook his head. "It still doesn't make up for what I did. What I was trying to do."

"Of course not."

Japan looked at Germany, his eyes wide open in horror.

"But that doesn't mean it never will. We can't ever take back the mistakes we made. But we can heal the damage left behind by them through our... love for each other. Through the things that we do every day to help each other and show each other that we care. I don't think what we did in the past matters as much as what we try to do now." Germany let his hand fall on Japan's shoulder again. "So take comfort in that, I suppose. We live in the present, which leads into the future. The past is passed and gone."

Germany was startled out of his attempts to comfort his friend as he heard soft footsteps behind them.

"Well said." Italy said, his voice unusually calm.

Japan whirled around. "Italy... how much did you hear?"

Germany furrowed his brow. How was Italy so quiet?

"All of it." Italy answered, resting his hand on Japan's other shoulder.

"Italy, I- I can't say how sorry I am."

"Then don't." Italy said. He rounded the couch, his hand never leaving his friend's shoulder as he took a seat on his left side. "You're already forgiven."

Japan's shoulders sagged with relief. "I can't understand your kindness."

"Oh, Japan... you've held onto this for far too long." Italy soothed.

Japan lowered his head and nodded. "I've never told anyone. It's been weighing on me."

"It's okay." Italy looked over at Germany. "We all have secrets. I think it's as important to let them go as it is to keep them."

Japan sighed. "I'm so tired."

"Oh." Italy laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. "I uh.. haven't changed the sheets out yet. I'll just... go do that." He got up.

Japan gave a close-mouthed smile. "It's okay, I need some water anyway."

"There! It worked out perfectly! We had our bonding moment, _and _water!" Italy said, leaving the room.

Japan stood and walked to the kitchen, Germany following him.

Germany sat down at a bar stool as Japan grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it.

Japan took a sip. "So why are you and Italy so tense?"

Germany looked down at the counter. He recognized the deliberate change of subject, as it was a conversational trick he often employed himself. He shut his eyes, sighing as he decided to let it slide. "We- we were in the Pantheon. We were alone. I turn around and Italy is looking at me. And he comes closer, and we almost... kissed. Then my damned phone went off." Germany was more embarassed than he was willing to admit this. But he knew his friends' ability to read the room and employ diplomacy. They were skills that Germany lacked in, admittedly. He figured if anyone were able to help him, it would be Japan.

Japan paused, taking another drink of his water. The two sat in silence for several moments, both lost in their own thoughts. "Interesting development." He took a seat next to Germany on the other bar stool.

Germany nodded.

They continued in their silence for about two minutes, Germany fiercely regretting telling Japan. He looked up as he noticed Japan chuckling to himself. "What is it?" He snapped.

Japan shook his head, his eyes closed behind his glasses. "Nothing. Just thought of something funny." He opened his eyes, observing Germany. "So is that all?"

Germany clasped his hands in front of him, his eyes returning to the counter. "I don't know what to do." Another pause. Germany looked up to see Japan staring at him with a deadpan expression. "What is it?"

Japan set his glass of water on the counter, taking a deep breath in through his nose. "Italy almost kissed you. You would have kissed if your phone hadn't gone off. And you're asking me what to do?"

Germany nodded, glad that Japan understood. "_Ja_."

_" Dear Lord Jesus, what do I do with these gay disasters_?"He sighed in Japanese.

"Huh?" Germany raised an eyebrow.

Japan sighed again. "Nothing, nothing. I am afraid I will be no help."

"But what-?"

Italy stood in the doorway. "What is it? Maybe I can help! I finished your bedding, Japan."

Japan turned, giving Italy a grateful smile. "Thank you."

Italy turned to Germany. "Are you ready for bed, Germany?"

Germany stood and stretched. "I'm more tired now than I think I've ever been."

Italy held out a hand.

Germany was so tired that he didn't even think twice as he grasped it, allowing Italy to lead the way. He was too tired as he heard a thump as he left, and too tired to realize that it was from Japan face-palming. He was too tired to pay attention to what Italy's room looked like, and barely what Italy was saying as they burrowed under the blankets.

"It's sad that Japan carried that around for so long."

Germany grunted, barely keeping his eyes open. "I wish we had known. Perhaps we could have helped."

Italy turned over and smiled. "I think you did a pretty great job!"

Germany hummed, finally giving in to the temptaion of sleep. "Goodnigh', Italy."

Italy giggled. "Goodnight, Germany."


	12. Chapter 12: Seborga's

Chapter 12: Seborga's

Germany stirred as he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Hmm?" He grunted.

"Germany, It's time to get up."

Italy's voice. Italy? Italy woke up before him?

Germany turned his head toward Italy's voice and squinted his eyes open. "What time is it?" His words were slurred with sleep.

Italy looked down at him with a content, close-mouthed smile. "About seven thirty."

Germany hummed. His brain was so... slow. "You woke up before me."

"Yup." Italy reached his hand forward and smoothed Germany's bangs away from his forehead. "I set an alarm."

Germany almost closed his eyes at the contact before his brain finally caught up with what was happening. "What are you doing? Stop that." He couldn't bring himself to bat back Italy's hand.

"Sorry," Italy withdrew his hand. "We need to make sure to pack for the beach and get going! I think Romano and Spain are going to be there, too."

Germany sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face, sitting up. "Jesus. More people."

Italy laughed. "Don't worry, Germany, it'll be fun!"

"Perhaps." His hand dropped as he got out of bed. He stretched. "Is Japan awake?"

"I think so. I heard him turn on the shower a bit ago."

Germany grunted. "So I'm the last one awake."

"Can't blame you." Italy stretched, his legs still under the covers. "You were so tired last night! You could barely talk!"

"Wel, at least I'm well rested for today." Germany crossed the room to his backpack. He pulled open his drawers. "We're only staying for the day, right? So we'll only need swimsuits?"

"And towels, and suntan lotion, and goggles!" Italy finished.

Germany pulled his swimming trunks out of his top drawer. "What adult brings swimming goggles to the beach?"

"I do!"

Germany half-turned. "Of course you do." He kneeled down on the ground and rummaged around his suitcase for his sunscreen, adding it to his bag. He was pleased to see it was completely full.

"Why are you adding sunscreen?" Italy asked. "I have suntan lotion!"

Germany sent Italy a level look. "You remember when we were stranded on that island. I burn if I so much as get the reflection of the sun off the sand."

"Hmm... must suck." Italy said.

Germany let his eyes roam over Italy's naturally olive complexion, insanely jealous of his ability to tan. "Hmm." Was all he supplied as he finished packing. He swung the backpack over his shoulder. "Get up, we have to get ready for the day." He grabbed a white wide-strapped undershirt.

"You can't lecture me!" Italy pointed out, tossing off his covers. "I woke up before you!"

Germany entered the bathroom, pointedly ignoring Italy's words.

Italy laughed gleefully, leaving the room.

Gemany shook his head, finding himself with a smile on his face. It fell immediately. God, what was wrong with him? Waking up late, talking about _feelings, _next thing you know, he's going to be rapping show tunes with America.

By the time he was out of the bathroom, Japan and Italy were sitting at the counter. Japan was nursing a coffee at the counter, with Italy standing by the coffee machine. There was a plethora of coffee equipment splayed out in front of him. Scales, bean grinders, spoons, measuring cups...

"What are you doing?"

"Making actual good coffee. It's been too long."

Germany reached over Italy, grabbing the hot pot of instant coffee off the other coffee machine. "There's nothing wrong with Folgers. It's cheaper, easier, faster."

Italy blew out a sigh, grinding out his beans. "And it tastes like dirt."

"Does it?" Germany asked Japan.

Japan shrugged. "Your coffee taste is more refined than mine, Germany."

Germany shook his head. "Hardly. Prussia is the coffee snob of the house."

Italy lit up. "He is?"

"Unfortunately. But his setup isn't nearly as elaborate as yours."

"We should meet up for coffee!" Italy declared.

"You can do that on your own." Germany poured a mug of coffee, taking a seat next to Japan. "I'll stick with instant."

"Italy said that Seborga is making breakfast for us there." Japan said as Germany sat.

"Really?"

Italy nodded. "Yup! He's an early riser! He's never been too much like Romano or I."

"Seems that there's always one odd brother." Germany added.

Japan nodded. "Prussia."

Italy snickered.

"So when Italy finally finishes his cup of coffee, we'll leave for Seborga's house." Germany decided.

Italy carefully measured out coffee grounds on a scale. "Sure, just give me ten minutes."

Germany sighed.

Fifteen minutes later and they were filing in the car. Japan generously offered to drive, Italy calling dibs on shotgun. Humiliatingly, Germany was pushed to the back of the car. Swallowing his pride, he had gotten in the back of the car without protest. But that turned out to be the least of his problems as Japan started driving. As they drove down Italy's long driveway, Germany just assumed Japan was going slowly downhill. He had commended his friend for his wise decision. But as they went down the roads leading to Seborga, he noticed that their creeping pace of about 60 kilometers an hour was Japan's usual driving speed.

Italy looked in the rierview at Germany, shrugging his shoulders. "Japan?" Italy tried.

"Hmm?" Japan answered, not noticing the problem.

"You... know we have to be there for breakfast, right?"

"Yes."

Silence ensued as Germany looked at Italy in the mirror before finding Japan's eyes in the rearview. "Well... the speed limit here is 110..."

"I chose to drive safely."

"Well you can still drive safely at 110, Japan!" Italy reassured him. "Germany does it all the time!"

"Remember, I haven't broken a single traffic law. But you may get pulled over for going this slow."

Japan huffed out a sigh. "My aplogies. I didn't realize it was bothering you this much." His tone indicated that he wasn't sorry whatsoever. "I will speed up."

Germany eyed the speedometer as Japan sped up, maintaining a speed of 90 kilometers per hour. Germany sighed to himself, but kept quiet. Though Japan looked young, his old man tendencies shone through every now and again. From soaking in hot water, to driving slow, to bellyaching about sore joints.

It took them about fifteen minutes to get down to Seborga's. In the front seat, Italy was practically vibrating as they pulled into Seborga's driveway. Looking out the window, Germany noticed that the dark cobblestone of the driveway contrasted with the white sand of the beach. He raised his eyebrows. Seborga lived on the coast?

"Look! That's his house!"

Germany looked through the windshield, his eyebrows raising. Seborga's house was... beautiful. But not in the way that other nations' houses were. It was beautiful in its simplicity. The house was largely white stucco, with a black metal roof that slanted downward. Halfway down the wall, the pristine white walls met layered grey stones that matched the chimney sticking out of the house. There were short, immature palms standing sentry to the whitewashed door, the bottoms submerged in decorative pebbles. There was a grey brick walkway leading straight from the driveway. Though the exterior was simple, the house looked to be about two levels high.

Japan pulled in the driveway and parked. "Hmm."

Germany was about to suggest they bring their bags in before Italy had already stood up and left the car.

"_Brother! I'm here, I'm here_!"

The door slammed open. Germany cringed as the white painted door bounced off the wall.

Seborga was standing with his arms outstretched, his smile beaming a blinding white. "_Italy! Finally! Romano and Spain are already here. Breakfast is almost cold! "_

Italy launched into his embrace, the two laughing, chattering in rapid Italian as they said their 'hellos'.

Germany's attention was drawn from the pair as he felt Japan's eyes on him.

"I suppose we should get out of the car." Japan suggested.

Germany nodded. "I suppose we should."

Yet they made no move. Germany mused that it was a probably good thing they had Italy. Otherwise he and Japan would probably never go anywhere. Just two introverts, sitting in a car and avoiding others. He sighed, opening the door. "Let's go."

Japan mirrored his sigh, "Let's." He followed Germany out.

The chattering cut off as Germany retrieved his bag from the back seat.

"Japan! Germany!" Seborga's voice called out. He was trailed by Italy as he went down the path toward them.

"Good morning, Seborga." Japan replied, bending at the waist.

Seborga stopped, also bending at the waist. The movement was well-meaning, but awkward. It was obvious that he didn't do it often. "Good morning, Japan!" He straightened, beaming again. "Thanks for coming! I've been really excited to have you over!"

Japan smiled, standing up straight. "Thank you for inviting me."

"And Germany!" Seborga flounced forward. Germany stiffened as he realized Seborga was about to come in for a hug before Seborga realized, and corrected his hug into a handshake. "Welcome to my place."

Germany shook Seborga's hand, relieved. "Thank you for having me."

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Italy asked. "Seborga's place has always been lovely!"

"Well no matter how lovely it is outside, the food's in there!" Seborga turned and waved an inviting hand. "Come in, come in!"

Italy beamed at Germany and Japan before he also turned, following his brother in. They entered the house, Germany's jaw dropping as he looked around the interior. Like Italy's house, it was an open floor plan. They exited the hallway, Seborga and Italy chatting in English. The space opened up into an open area with dark floors. The first thing you saw was the living room, dotted with grey couches and easy chairs. Along a wall, made of dark wood, was a bookshelf filled with books covered in a thin film of dust. The centerpiece of the room was a chimney made of the same grey stone as outside, rising up to the ceiling of the house. The middle of the house was high-ceilinged, the second level consisting of a loft that made up the roof of the hallway and extended along the front of the house. He looked over and noticed a wide grey table, the legs bending under the burden of dishes of hot, steaming food. A large kitchen was behind the spread, with white granite countertop and large cabinets.

Sitting at the table was Romano, who was tapping his finger on the table. "Finally. You're here. Can we eat now, Seb- Seborga?"

Germany caught this slip, wondering what it was about. He suspected that Romano had almost called Seborga by his human name. He wouldn't be shocked, Gilbert had almost made that mistake himself many times.

Spain, who was sitting on his right, laughed. "Relax, 'Mano. It's only been a few minutes!"

"That's a few minutes without me eating breakfast, bastard! I thought I would die of old age before they got here. And that's not even possible." Romano snapped.

Italy laughed, rounding the table as he embraced Romano from behind, Romano grunting with disdain. "Sorry, Romano! Japan drives like an old man!"

Seborga took his seat at the head of the table, laughing. "Like you can tease _anyone _about their driving, Italy."

Italy took his seat on the other side of Seborga, resting his face in his palm, but a smile was still on his face. "Hmm... well yours isn't much better."

"Better than yours." Seborga replied.

Japan took a seat by the end of the table, which was the only empty seat. Germany followed awkwardly, setting his bag by his seat.

"Well Romano is the only good driver out of the three of you." Spain declared, leaning forward on the table. "Shame he never drives."

Romano harumphed as he reached forward, taking a piece of some sort of breakfast cassarole. "Why would I drive when you drive me around everywhere, tomato bastard?"

The others helped themselves, Japan and Germany awkwardly following along with whatever the others were doing. Despite how long everyone here had been alive, it was the first time they had all met together for much of anything besides business. There were outings they all had together as "bonding experiences", but even then they remained in their same cliques. This was definitely a breach in the usual protocol Germany followed: Just stay with Japan and Italy. But he found it easier to listen along with the others and smile as the others laughed at the stories they presented. They went one by one down the table, Japan even chiming in with a couple of stories about America from when the two were briefly roommates together.

"What about you, Germany?" Spain asked, his lilting voice alight with amusement. "You've been quiet."

Germany hummed, looking up from his hash. "Well... I certainly have a few stories about Italy."

"I'm not surprised." Romano grunted.

"Like what stories?" Italy asked, excited about being the subject of conversation.

Germany chuckled. "So, so many. Like that one time I tried to teach you how to throw a grenade."

Italy clapped a couple times. "Yes, I remember this one! We were in the middle of training – you weren't there, Japan – and Germany was trying to teach me how to throw a grenade. And you pulled the pin out with your teeth and threw it away-"

"Like a normal person." Germany interjected. "I provided clear instructions, and I tell Italy it's his turn. So as I turn around to point where Italy's supposed to throw it, I hear the pin fall next to me. I look back at Italy, and he has the _grenade _in his mouth."

Through the laughter around the table, Italy sat up straight. "Germany went crazy! He was telling to throw it away, but my brain wasn't working!"

"It never does." Germany chided, but he had a smile on his face. "The only reason he didn't explode at all was because I pulled it out of his mouth and threw it away myself. It exploded before it even hit the ground."

"My teeth hurt all day after that," Italy lamented through a smile.

"South Italy did the same thing, as I recall."

Romano turned bright red. "It was a trick to scare you, Potato Fucker!"

Everyone laughed. Spain rested his hand on Romano's back, Romano's frown giving way into a slight smile.

By the time they finished breakfast, Germany was amazed. Not only about how good of a time he was having, but at Seborga's cooking skill. If he thought Italy was a decent cook, Seborga was Gordon Ramsey. Italy had mentioned in passing that him and his brothers each had their own special interests. His was art, Romano's was fashion, and Seborga's was cooking. But now he truly understood. He wasn't given much time to consider how good it was before Italy stood up.

"Let's go to the beach!" He declared, standing.

"Hell yeah!" Seborga agreed, also standing. "I have everything! Umbrellas, suntan lotion, booze..."

"Is alcohol allowed on the beach?" Germany asked.

"Until you get caught, yes!" Seborga winked.

Germany and Japan traded a nervous glance.

"... I have a couple of concerns." Japan admitted.

Spain laughed. "No worries, Japan. If you were to go out on the beach and look around, Seborga's is the only place for miles."

"Besides, I desperately need a drink with friends." Seborga left the table, grabbing a beach bag off the counter and walking to the fridge. He opened it and began stowing bottles in the bag. "Do you know how hard it is to get a good drink when half your friends are underage?"

Germany hummed. "It's still not a good idea."

"Come on, guys! We're wasting daylight!" Italy cried, sprinting away from the table. He almost tripped over a side table as he ran over to the glass patio door and pulled it open. He didn't bother to close it as he bolted to the beach, pulling his t-shirt off over his head.

Romano scowled, also standing. "My idiot brother... not even putting on sunscreen." He turned, holding out his hand. "Toss it to me."

"Are you kidding?" Seborga shut the fridge, the bag noticeably straining under the weight of all the bottles stored inside. "He tans!"

Romano's scowl deepened. "Fine. See if I care when he burns." He stood, walking after his brother in a leisurely pace. "Come on, bastard."

Germany was confused as to who Romano was talking to until Spain stood with a smile.

"Coming, 'Mano."

Japan also stood. "Are you coming, Germany?"

Germany left his seat, leaning over and grabbing his bag. "Do you want your Nintendo?"

"No, not yet. I think I will enjoy the sun." Japan decided.

Seborga grunted, waddling slightly as he tried to carry out the insulated beach bag. "I'll be there in a second."

Germany sighed, shouldering his bag. "Do you want some help with that?"

"Really?" Seborga straightened. "Thanks, Germany!"

As Germany walked over and took the heavy bag from the third brother, he noticed that Seborga was taller than his siblings. He came up to Germany's nose, in fact. He hefted the bag. It was clear that Seborga was just as weak as his brothers despite the height difference.

"I'll take the sunbrellas! You and Japan will probably need them."

Japan shook his head. "I will be fine, actually. I tend to tan. Germany, however..." His voice had a playful lilt as he let his sentence trail off.

Germany turned around to shut the door. "_Ja, ja. _That's enough out of you." He turned around, taking in the scenery around him. The back of his his house was bordered with a deck made of light wood, dotted with white wicker furniture. Resting on the seats were colorful cushions. However pretty that was, the real beauty lay beyond the edge of the deck. The bright blue waters contrasted sharply against the white sand, an endless expanse of water.

Seborga surged ahead and grabbed a couple sunbrellas leaning against the wooden border of the deck.

"Let me help you." Japan offered, taking one of the sunbrellas.

"Thanks. Hey, you realize we're doing down to the beach, right?"

Japan looked down at his ensemble. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. "Oh, no. I have my swimwear underneath."

"Good. Everyone here is going to swim for at least a little bit! Nothing compares to swimming in the Italian waters."

Germany raised an eyebrow. "But saltwater is saltwater no matter where it is."

Seborga turned around with a bright grin, his curl fluttering slightly with the wind. "Not a romantic, I see. How you and my brother are so close, I have no idea."

Germany noticed Seborga's wicked grin and blushed. Damn it. "Not that close."

"Okay." Seborga said, clearly not convinced. Italy and Spain were in the distance, engaged in a water fight as Romano was laying back on a red towel. He was propped up on his elbows, rubbing suntan lotion on his already tanned skin. Seborga quietly approached, stabbing the end of a sunbrella in the sand not two inches away from his elbow.

Romano gave a girlish screach and recoiled, his Cartier sunglasses falling on the towel. He noticed who was beaming down at him and growled. "Damn you. Your fucking umbrella's going to ruin my tan."

"Come on, Romano!" Seborga chortled. "You're already tanned enough! Loosen up for just one day, huh?"

"I will when the Macho Potato gives me a drink." He picked up his sunglasses, checking for grains of sand.

Germany reached in the bag and grabbed a beer, tossing it to Romano.

Romano scrambled with the bottle for a moment before it fell on the towel. He growled, but said nothing as he lay back and donned the overpriced sunglasses again.

The setup was relatively short, with Germany putting on sunblock as soon as his towel was layed out. Under the shade of the sunbrella and the protection of sunscreen, he was fairly confident that he would leave tonight without a sunburn. He was perfectly content to sit and watch Italy mess in the water with Spain and Seborga, Italy laughing as Seborga popped from the water and balanced his older brother on his shoulders. Japan was sitting on the bank, having abandoned his sweats. His camera was raised to take photos of the action. That left Romano and Germany, Romano reading a newspaper as he lay on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows.

Germany frowned as he was twinged with the urge to work. It had lay at the back of his mind for a while, but he had been determined to ignore it. It bit at him with increasing ferocity. Looking over at Romano, he noticed that the economic news lay in the sand, untouched. "South Italy."

"What?"

"Are you done with the economics?"

Not looking up from the fashion news, Romano passed Germany the economic pages. "Can't stay away from work long enough to take a real vacation?"

"I don't know what else you expected."

Romano grunted. "Me neither."

A couple moments of silence passed as they perused the pages before Romano's gruff voice started again.

"Hey, Potato Head."

"Hmm?" Germany looked up from the papers.

"Who am I?"

"What?"

"What, are you dickless _and _brainless? Who am I?"

Germany raised an eyebrow. "... you're South Italy."

Romano turned over. "Why the hell do you call me that? People call me Romano."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you didn't like it."

"Just answer the question. Why do you call me South Italy?"

Germany lowered his newspapers. "Well, I know for a fact that I wouldn't like it if people just called me by my human name. When Prussia... dissolved, he made sure people kept calling him 'Prussia'. Because it's important to our identities. Names are priveliged information. And with everyone calling you 'Romano' all the time... I guess I just thought you would like it if somoene called you 'South Italy'."

Romano grunted, narrowing his eyes. After a short pause, he returned to his paper. "South Italy's fine."

Germany furrowed his brow, also returning his pages. Did Romano really care if he called him 'South Italy'? What was the right course of action here? Why were emotions so damn hard? He cleared his throat. He guessed he would just keep calling him 'South Italy', then.

"Germany!" He heard from above him.

Germany looked up, his eyes widening. Italy was kneeling down to his level, his tan skin shining under beads of saltwater. His wet hair was swept back away from his forehead in a way that Germany didn't know he loved until this moment. Italy's doe eyes were wide open, shaded only by his long brown lashes.

"Ye-" Germany's voice cracked. He cleared his throat. Shit. "Yes?"

"Seborga has pool toys in his house! We have to go find them!"

"Can you get them yourself? Surely they're not that heavy."

"Maybe, but I don't know where they are. Seborga doesn't, either."

Germany huffed out a sigh. "Okay, okay, I'm coming." He stood, ducking out from under the umbrella. Germany followed Italy in the house, not noticing the congregation that was forming behind his turned back.


	13. Chapter 13: The Plan?

**By the way, y'all, I know the fic is pretty cruddy on here. My edited, nice version is on Ao3. I see y'all subscribed to this. Drop a comment, if you would. It takes two minutes, and it makes my day! Thanks!**

Chapter 13: The Plan...?

Japan furrowed his brow as he noticed Seborga whispering to Spain, Spain's snicker following whatever he had said. What were they planning? He stood as the two sloshed through the water to the shore.

Seborga reached forward and grabbed Japan's arm. "Come on, Japan!"

Japan pulled his arm away. "Why? What's happening?"

"We have some schemeing to do, _Mi amigo_." Spain answered, chuckling.

Japan reluctantly followed them, wondering what they were going to do. He had heard horror stories from Germany about the hijinks Spain got into with Prussia and France. Surely, Seborga was about as bad of an influence. The other two nations strode confidently to Romano, who had yet to look up from his paper.

"What do you want?"

Spain kneeled down and ruffled Romano's hair before pecking him on the forehead. "Come on, _mi pequeño tomate_, be nice!"

Romano blushed heavily and swatted Spain's hand away. "Okay, okay, piss off!" He sat up. "What is it?"

Seborga plopped on the sand next to his brother. "We have a plan..."

"It's a shock you could use your one braincell long enough... what is it?"

Spain sat next to Romano, propping an arm out behind the both of them. "Have you noticed the tension between Italy and Germany?"

Romano scoffed. "Even _America _has noticed the tension betwen Italy and Germany."

"Spain and I," here Seborga gestured to Spain. "Have decided that we need to get them together tonight."

Japan furrowed his brow. "Oh, I don't think we should..."

"Finally," Romano inclined his head to Japan. "Someone with a brain. Leave them alone."

"Oh come on, 'Mano!" Spain pleaded. "It's been almost 80 years! You can't expect them to realize anytime soon."

Japan cleared his throat. Little did the others know that they had already figured it out... that they had almost kissed already.

Seborga narrowed his eyes at the shy nation. "You're hiding something, aren't you?"

Japan's usually composed face was covered in a light blush. "I- no, not at all!"

"Wow." Romano lowered his sunglasses, raising an eyebrow. "You're a worse liar than Seborga."

Seborga lightly smacked Romano on the arm. "Shut up, Romano. Come on, Japan, spill it!"

"I..." Japan turned to Romano for help.

He shook his head. "You're on your own on this one."

"Come on, Japan! We can help your friends! You have to be getting as tired of this as we are." Spain tried.

Japan sighed, thinking. It's been almost painful, watching the two dance around each other for this long. For almost a full human lifetime. It was almost as sad as his own unreciprocated feelings... Suddenly, he was struck with inspiration to help his friends. "Okay. Fine."

Spain sat up. "Yes!"

"Sshh!" Seborga hushed, waving his arm. "Be quiet! He's talking!"

Japan shifted under the attention he was getting. "... So yesterday-"

"As recent as yesterday?" Romano asked, sounding interested.

"... yes. So they came back from Rome and they were acting strangely. So I asked Germany what had happened. They almost kissed and he didn't know what to do."

Romano's eyes widened. "Holy fuck."

"_Almost? _How do you almost kiss someone?" Seborga asked.

"His phone went off."

"Oof." Spain cringed.

Romano pulled the sunglasses off his nose. "Wait, so they almost kissed? They almost touched lips. There was almost contact. It was mutual and all that shit. And he was wondering what he was supposed to do?"

Japan shook his head, surprised that he was relating to Romano at all. "It was lost on me too. The worst part is that Italy asked me the same question earlier before Germany did."

Seborga face palmed. "_Mio Dio, _our brother is useless, Romano."

"Are you even surprised?" Romano asked.

Segorga smiled. "No."

"Is that all that happened?" Spain questioned, unusually serious.

Japan nodded.

"Okay, here's what we have to do." Spain decided, closing his eyes in thought. "We have to get them drunk tonight."

Romano scoffed. "That shouldn't be hard, they both like their alcohol."

"Then what?" Seborga asked. "You can't just get two people drunk and expect them to get lip locking, I've tried many times!"

Japan raised an eyebrow.

Seborga shrugged. "England and France."

"Now _that's _a lost cause." Romano said.

Spain. "Try hanging out with France. If I have to hear one more time about England's 'pert ass'..."

Seborga shook his head frantically. "Ew, gross, I don't want to hear about that!"

"Yeah, me neither." Spain replied dryly.

"Okay, focus." Romano said, drawing them back in, much to Japan's relief. "The hell are we supposed to do about Italy and the kraut?"

The four paused in thought, trying to think of what could possibly get them together. Japan opened his eyes as it dawned on him. He had seen loads of movies! He'd seen lots of media that proved that this idea was foolproof. "I have an idea."

The others focused their attention on Japan.

"Would truth or dare work?" He asked.

Romano furrowed his brow. "Could be a long shot."

Seborga snapped. "Long shot!" He leaned over and shook Romano's shoulders excitedly. "That's it!"

Romano slapped Seborga's hands.

Seborga hissed with pain and withdrew his hands, but his smile returned. "Truth or dare or _shot_."

"So we drink every time we don't want to do something?" Spain asked.

Seborga snapped his fingers into finger guns. "On the money!"

"That could work." Japan decided. "Germany is very competitive, and Italy enjoys those kinds of things."

"The Italian brothers know how to party." Romano said.

"Plus, it could be fun!" Spain said.

"What could be fun?" Germany's voice said.

Japan peeked around the umbrella. Germany and Italy were standing there, their arms laden with boxes of pool toys.

"We're going to play truth or dare or drink!" Spain revealed.

"We are?!" Italy jumped up and down. "I'm a champ at that game!"

Germany looked over at Italy, surprised. "You are? When did you play that?"

"Karaoke night." Italy looked over at Germany smugly.

Romano shuddered. "Ugh. Wish I could forget it."

"Which one?" Japan asked.

"The _Fergalicious _Incident of 2018."

Spain laughed as Germany let out a suffering sigh. "Oh, yeah! That was great, huh?"

"I think the worst part was the choreography." Romano growled.

Germany blanched. "What?"

"You didn't see it on Youtube?" Italy asked. "It was trending for weeks!"

Germany groaned, sitting down on his blanket. "I can't believe I'm related to him."

"Me neither!" Seborga added. "You need to loosen up! You know a great way to do that? Truth or dare or drink."

"Fine, I'll play."

Japan smiled to himself. Little did Germany know that he dug his own grave.


	14. Chapter 14

Sorry, guys. I'm not updating on Fanfiction anymore. I'm not getting much of... well... anything for posting on here, and it's a lot of work for no feedback. So I'm going to continue to post my fic on ao3.


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